


Fever

by TheCrackedKatana



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, obikin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:12:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 37,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4814498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCrackedKatana/pseuds/TheCrackedKatana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anakin returns from a solo mission with no capture and a nasty case of “I am absolutely NOT sick” and is tended to by his doting mentor.  But when a very unwell Anakin is forced to pursue an adversary in spite of his condition, Obi-Wan accompanies him at the request of the Council and possibly, against Anakin’s wishes.  In a relationship charged with unspoken feelings and bordering on drastic emotional change, the smallest gestures carry the greatest meaning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Said I'm Fine!

**Author's Note:**

> Space operas and fancy clothes and kissing in strange places, oh my! I hope you enjoy watching them discover their feelings for each other as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> *Please note that this work is on hiatus until September!*

He was a mess. A dripping, sodden, rumpled mess. When Anakin had volunteered for this "simple" mission, he'd had no idea that the weather would turn the excursion into rain-blinded farce. 

As the door slid open, he trudged inside, trailing water in his wake. 

"So, how was it?" Obi-Wan's voice drifted from the kitchen area.

"Terrible," Anakin said without pretense.

The other man stepped into view, tea in hand, a book tucked beneath his arm. "Come now, Anakin. Surely it couldn't have been as bad as--" He came to an abrupt halt as he rounded the corner. "Oh dear." 

Anakin shrugged off his cloak, frowning as it landed upon the tile with soggy plop of fabric. "He got away."

"Did he?" Obi-Wan set both the tea and the book upon the end table near the couch. "Well, perhaps tomorrow, then?"

"Maybe," Anakin grumbled.

He paused with a sudden cringe, pressing his gloved hand to his nose. The change from the cold streets of Coruscant to the warmth of their shared quarters was a sudden extreme that set his sinuses on edge. 

His brow knitted, features cinching into something akin to helpless annoyance as he turned away from Obi-Wan with a flinch of shoulders and half-managed to stifle a sneeze. Which only served to bring on another. And another.

He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers and willed his breathing into a steady pace. "Sorry," he said with a rough clearing of his throat. 

"That . . . does not sound good." Obi-Wan stroked the edges of his beard as he regarded Anakin with a tilt of his head. "Perhaps we should get you out of those wet clothes, hmm?"

"It might help," Anakin grumbled. His breath caught and wavered with a teasing hitch and he barely managed to raise a hand in time to smother another sneeze.

"Oh dear," Obi-Wan said again.

"Don't fuss, Obi-Wan," Anakin muttered.

"Anakin." The other man sighed his name, as if he were the most insufferable being alive. And it was probably true. "Could you just--"

"It's fine," the younger Jedi interrupted. "It's the weather."

Obi-Wan all but rolled his eyes. "Anakin," he said. 

In _that_ way. _By the kriffing Force. . ._

"Weather does not make one ill."

Anakin dragged a hand beneath his nose with a defiant narrowing of eyes. "I am _not_ \--"

"Now, see here, young one." Obi-Wan cut him off with a gesture that looked suspiciously like the finer nuances of a Force strangle. "I may not be your Master any longer, but I am no foolish onlooker. Perhaps you can cloak your actions in deception to hide them from others, but not from me. You know this, so I suggest you stop trying." 

The space between Anakin's eyebrows compressed into lines of irritation and a slow, erratic hitch of breath tugged his lips apart, but the tickle abated. What was meant for a sigh of relief morphed into a cough that he could do little to hide from the other Jedi.

"Oh, Anakin." Obi-Wan's sigh was as long-suffering as he could manage, but the words were gentled with worry. The back of one hand trailed his jaw, fingers brushing his cheek. "Come. Let us tend to this before you worsen."

 _Too late for that. . ._

"Okay," the younger Jedi said.

He allowed himself to be led into their shared sleeping quarters where Obi-Wan set about the task of disrobing him. 

"I should go out again," Anakin said as Obi-Wan tugged his leather belt free of his tunic. "He's nearby. I can sense it."

The obi followed the belt, tabards slipping from his shoulders. Even his inner tunic was soaked, peeling away from his skin with a wet suction of material as Obi-Wan stripped it from his body. A shiver he could not disguise traversed his shoulders. By the Force, how could he be both freezing and burning up at the same time?

"You'll do no such thing." Obi-Wan's rebuke was deceptive in its softness, but Anakin knew the tone all too well. 

"But I--" The argument died on his tongue as the assuaged tickle in his sinuses assaulted him with a vengeance.

Three frame-shuddering sneezes and one follow-up coughing episode later, he cast a rather sheepish glance at his mentor, whose crossed arms and long-suffering expression broadcasted multiple levels of “I told you so.”

"Pants, too,” Obi-Wan instructed as he plucked the wet pile of uniform pieces from the floor. “And …everything else.”

Anakin arched an eyebrow, the scar just above it lifting. “I’m not wearing any ‘everything else.’ ” 

“ _Honestly_ , Anakin …” 

The slight hint of color that warmed Obi-Wan’s complexion was enough to rend a smirk from Anakin’s lips as he set about the task of freeing himself from the last traces of fabric. Literally. Obi-Wan’s gaze traveled the length of his body from collarbone to ankles with a brief, yet decidedly appreciative flick of a stare before he tossed the neat square of a folded blanket at Anakin’s chest.

“Cover yourself,” Obi-Wan commanded, amending the order with, “before you catch your death.”

Anakin’s low chuckle was a dark rasp of sound as the other Jedi excused himself, carting the sodden mess of a uniform somewhere into the ‘fresher.

(TBC....)


	2. Words Fail Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin's resistance begins to weaken and Obi-Wan's patience comes in handy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize this is short, but it needed to be this way. Things got plot-tastic after this bit. Whoops.

Anakin pulled the corners of the blanket together and huddled beneath the fleece-like fabric. His wretched body somehow manage to make it both uncomfortably hot and freezing cold at once, unable to strike a balance between them. 

A shower would fix it. Or a strong cup of tea. Just something to regulate the warmth within him. something to---

"All right, I've found you something a bit better than your usual thin excuse for a sleep tunic." 

Anakin glanced up from his concentrated "I am not going to sneeze for the 50th time" efforts with a blink as Obi-Wan set a bundle of thick, woolen night clothes beside him upon the mattress. 

"These are more suited for a colder environment, but I thought perhaps you might find them useful."

The tickle in his sinuses stole his words of thanks, morphing them into a harsh, desperate sneeze that was more a clenching of teeth than anything else.

"Hhn, sorry," Anakin mumbled, his voice a hoarser version of itself. 

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed in concern as he took a seat beside the younger Jedi, a hand coming to rest upon his thigh. "Dear me, that sounded as if it hurt."

"It did," Anakin said with a sigh and a slump of shoulders. 

"Clothes," Obi-Wan said, nodding towards the pile. " _Now,_ dear one." 

The casual endearment quirked one corner of his mouth into a smile. Theirs was an odd relationship, not buoyed by traditional declarations of affection, but rather in subtle, almost non-descript mannerisms. But Anakin held great appreciation for the smallest of sentiments just the same. Although he would rather Force choke himself than admit to such a thing. 

He tugged on the pants, shrugged the thick tunic over his shoulders and all but groaned as the warmth of the heavy fabric suffused him. 

"There, now." Obi-Wan's smile was a kinder version of his usual saucy expression. "Better?"

Anakin nodded with a sniffle, brushing at one eye with a mechanical finger. "Yes. Thank you."

"Ah, good." A hand lighted upon his leg, squeezing his thigh with a gentle kneading of fingers. "Perhaps I can interest you something warm? A bit of tea might do wonders for your throat."

Anakin shook his head. "I. . . really just want to sleep."

Sudden exhaustion had stolen all but his ability to remain upright and even that was becoming quite the effort.

"All right," Obi-Wan agreed, patting his leg. "I shall leave you to it, then."

Mechanical fingers closed over the other Jedi's wrist before Anakin could order his body to stop.

"Wait," he said. As if the halting clench of his fingers hadn't been enough to stop Obi-Wan n the first place. "I'm . . ." He heaved a sigh, eyebrows pinching together with a crease of irritation. "Could you . . . " The words trailed into nothingness and he raised his eyes to meet Obi-Wan's gaze, sending the need for the other man's companionship through their bond and hoping it translated where words so often failed him.

The corners of Obi-Wan's eyes crinkled as the smile deepened into something softer. Warmer somehow. Fingers laced with those of his prosthetic hand without regard for the metal, tugging him into a familiar embrace and guiding his body back against the blankets. Despite his larger stature, Anakin curled himself against the other man as if he were a child, clutching at his tunic and nestling his head upon one shoulder until he seemed to shrink into something smaller than himself.

A hand slid into his still-damp locks, curling strands of it with a wayward twisting of fingers.

"Feels good . . ." Anakin murmured.

The hand carded through the clinging strands, smoothing them away from his forehead. "Rest, then."

"Mmhmm." Anakin nuzzled the bearded jaw and edged closer, one arm draping Obi-Wan's chest. 

The brush of lips upon his brow lingered and he gave himself over to his fatigue, allowing sleep to claim him. 

(TBC . ..)


	3. Mission Not-So-Possible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Anakin falters at concealing his worsening condition, Obi-Wan receives an unpleasant order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the idea of Master and Padawan having "conjoined" quarters with private sleeping areas, 'freshers, and one common room. In my mind, Obi-Wan and Anakin enjoyed each other's company enough to keep this arrangement, even after Anakin attained the rank of Jedi Knight. And there's a little more to it than that, of course. ;) Too bad they're both too stubborn to admit it at this point!

Shafts of the first rays of dawn had begun to filter through the blinds by the time Obi-Wan bothered to crack an eyelid. An entire night had come and gone, his plans to review documentation for upcoming assignments gone awry in favor of something far more in need of his attention.

That "something" was currently half-draped over his body, limbs entwined with his own, hand resting atop his wrist, fingers curled around it. 

A brief moment of panic suffused him at the thought of being caught away from his own bed in such a compromised position, but the apprehension dissolved into a gentler concern that stole the focus from himself as Anakin shifted against him with a sniffle. 

Far past his youngling years and still, the man somehow managed to make himself as small possible, as if he were an unassuming and harmless thing in need of comfort and affection. A smile curved Obi-Wan's lips as he passed a hand through the sleep-rumpled hair of his companion, brushing the damp strands from his forehead. The younger man's skin was much cooler than it had been before. Perhaps Anakin's fever had broken during the night.

Wordless mumbling greeted his touch as the fingers that clutched his wrist unfurled in favor of flexing around the lapel of his tunic.

"Well, good morning," Obi-Wan murmured.

Anakin grunted. "Is it?"

His former Master chuckled. "Perhaps not, then?" He adjusted his position so that Anakin could curl more of himself against him almost out of habit. "How are you feeling?"

"Like _poodoo_ ," Anakin muttered into the folds of his attire.

"Oh dear," Obi-Wan said, unable to suppress another soft laugh. 

Anakin was known for his rather blunt, if not refreshing sense of honesty. The Jedi Master tightened his embrace just a touch, smiling when Anakin took the opportunity to edge closer, tucking his head just beneath Obi-Wan's chin. Such closeness was uncommon between those who were no longer student and master and the Council would certainly frown upon it, should it come to light somehow. Anakin was nearly 23 years of age, far too old for such coddling, but Obi-Wan could not deny his former apprentice the comfort he so obviously wanted, yet had been unable to vocalize. Anakin had come to be more than an apprentice, their relationship deepening past the complexities of friendship and into something more intricate than Obi-Wan could label. And something he so often would not even allow himself to consider, even for a moment.

_You are too attached to the boy, Obi-Wan. This is forbidden. You know this. You must let him go. You must . . ._

The halting hitch of Anakin's breath as well as a weak attempt to distance himself from Obi-Wan's body snapped his attention from the redundant replay of Mace Windu's words and back to the man beside him.

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan felt the other man's shoulder's tighten into a hard flinch as he clamped a hand over his mouth to silence a sudden pair of sneezes into near silence.

"Hnnh, sorry," Anakin mumbled. "I tried to move."

A third seized him and the shudder that passed through his body was near painful for Obi-Wan to endure watching.

"Stop doing that," Obi-Wan chided him. 

Anakin sniffled against the back of his hand. "Be glad I did it. Trust me."

"You do realize that you have done far worse than this before and I did not cease to exist because of it," Obi-Wan informed him, voice tinged with amusement.

 _"I have?"_

The horror in his former Padawan's tone only served to bring forth the chuckle he had been keeping at bay. 

"Anakin, I have stanched the flow of your blood with my own hand while covered in your . . . well, let us just say that it was unpleasant for us both," Obi-Wan said. "Do you honestly think your sneezing concerns me?" 

The younger Jedi grunted. "It concerns _me._ " 

"Really, Anakin." Obi-Wan rolled his eyes skyward and entertained a brief thought about the look Qui-Gon Jinn would have given him for engaging in such a petulant action.

Regardless of his assurances, Anakin saw fit to untangle himself from their embrace, the space that their bodies had shared now cooling as Obi-Wan propped himself up on one arm to regard his companion.

"I . . . I need a shower," Anakin grumbled with a sigh as he shoved a hand through his hair. 

"The steam might do you some good, yes," Obi-Wan agreed. 

Anakin's usually clear voice had dropped at least a fifth due to whatever illness he was fighting. Forcing tea into him would be a difficult task, but at least the shower would help matters. 

He heaved himself to his feet and trudged towards the 'fresher, shutting himself within its confines. A wrenching sneeze echoed from within the small room followed swiftly by a smattering of vehement cursing in what sounded suspiciously like Huttese. While Obi-Wan winced in sympathy, he could not help but chuckle just a bit. The sheer loathing in Anakin's words crossed all language barriers.

The muffled beeping of a comlink drew his attention away from the ongoing symptomatic misery in the other room and back to the nightstand. 

Anakin's comlink. Obi-Wan plucked it from the durasteel table with a shrug. Well, _someone_ had to answer the thing.

"Kenobi here," he said into the small speaker.

"Kenobi?" Mace Windu's voice was almost suspicious. "Where's Skywalker?"

"He is . . . indisposed at present, Master Windu," Obi-Wan said. "I assume you're wanting a report from his mission?"

Mace's voice crackled over the communication grid. "We already know. However, we've had reports of the fugitive's whereabouts as of this morning. We suspect he might attempt a bombing."

"A bombing?" Obi-Wan sat up a bit straighter. "Where?"

"Somewhere that has a large congregation of beings," Mace was saying. "Perhaps one of the markets or theaters or--"

"The opera," Obi-Wan interrupted.

"Come again?" 

"The opera," Obi-Wan repeated. "Zydig Hies is performing tonight with a local troop. It's quite the sold out production." 

A pause from the other end of the communication. "My intuition tells me that you might be onto something. Tell Skywalker he's attending the opera tonight. With you."

It was now Obi-Wan's turn to pause. Should he inform Mace of Anakin's rather pathetic condition? His former Padawan would certainly not do so. Really, Anakin was in no condition to --- 

"Obi-Wan? Are you there?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan said with a shake of his head. "The opera. With Anakin. Yes." 

"Tell Skywalker not to give you any grief over this," Mace said. "He might think he can handle it on his own, but this isn't a one man job."

"Anakin will be fine," Obi-Wan said.

_Wasn't that quite the lie . . ._

"Good," Mace said. "And Obi-Wan? Don't let Skywalker take over. You're a team, got it?"

"Of course," Obi-Wan said.

The transmission ended and Obi-Wan set the comlink back upon the table with a sigh as the sound of Anakin's harsh coughing greeted his ears. It wasn't the "team work" aspect of this mission that worried him.

(TBC...)


	4. Is That What You're Wearing?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get fancy for the mission while a suddenly tongue-tied Obi-Wan still worries over Anakin's condition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I need to find an artist to commission for this scene. I have snapshots of the outfits and everything!

Obi-Wan adjusted the ascot so that it sat high upon his throat, nestled properly within the confines of his vest. Ages had passed since he had donned civilian clothing, much less anything ornate or expensive. This particular operatic event was a grand affair and the Jedi could not afford to draw attention to themselves with their usual attire. 

With nothing proper to wear for this particular mission, he had sought out the help of Master Mundi, who had been all too happy to see to it that he looked the part of a moderately wealthy local. In fact, he seemed to enjoy himself on a level Obi-Wan could not quite comprehend, smiling as if he were preparing Obi-Wan for something grand rather than a mere mission. 

_How very odd . . ._

Still, Obi-Wan had to admit that he had done a fine job of things. The clothing was modest by design, but stylish, the ivory tunic a lightweight type of silk that contrasted nicely with the tan vest. Gold scrolling etched the material of the vest in a tasteful, discreet pattern which offset an ascot of the same hue. The pants were rather ordinary, a matching tan much like the vest, but it was the boots that he liked best, a soft, almost breathable leather that boasted gold buttons from knee to ankle on the outer calf. Those he wouldn't mind keeping.

He strolled back to his quarters, fully expecting to find Anakin still dallying within the confines of the shower. Really, his former Padawan often took far too long to ready himself for missions.

The door slid open as he stepped inside, boots clicking upon the tile.

"Anakin," he called, tugging at the sleeve of his tunic so that it laid at just the right angle. "I do hope you are ready to--"

The words trailed into silence as the other Jedi stepped into view and promptly stole Obi-Wan's ability to articulate a coherent thought.

If Anakin were trying to not to stand out, this was, in Obi-Wan's dry-mouthed opinion, an absolute failure. The man was a startling vision in unrelieved black, save a fitted vest much like Obi-Wan's own. It was the cobalt blue jacquard pattern that drew his eye, the double-breasted buttons a sharp, metallic contrast to the darkness of the clothing. Unlike Obi-Wan, he wore no ascot, but the wide lapels of the vest made the accessory unnecessary. Boots adorned with several straps and buckles completed the look, taller than Obi-Wan's footwear, the tops reaching just past his knees. 

And then, there was the matter of the pants. Supple. Sleek. _Leather._ Obi-Wan let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

The other Jedi's somewhat cocky posture faltered as he took in Obi-Wan's expression and he ran a hand through his hair, as if suddenly uncertain. 

"What?" Anakin tilted his head to one side. "Do I look okay?"

By the Force, how could he even ask such a thing? The hyperactive (and often dirty) Padawan he had trained many years ago was gone, leaving a prepossessing man standing in his place. 

Obi-Wan licked suddenly dry lips, clearing his throat just a touch. "You look . . ."

_Stunning. Breath-stealing. Exquisite._

"Quite striking," he finished at last.

Anakin's blue eyes studied him. Or rather, looked through him. "You think so?"

Obi-Wan swallowed hard. "Oh. . . oh yes." 

The other man sauntered towards him with a creak of leather and Obi-Wan had to remind himself that Anakin's eyes were further up his body.

"Hmmn." Anakin's stare raked him from navel to nose. "You're not too bad yourself, _Master._ " He poked Obi-Wan's shoulder with a well-placed jab of one finger. "But somehow, I knew there would be white involved." 

"Yes, well, your clever use of leather fails to surprise me," Obi-Wan said with a rather pointed smirk.

Anakin's chuckle morphed into a cough, reminding Obi-Wan that the younger man's well-dressed sharpness did not match how he might still feel. The clothing was merely a cover. Quite an appealing one, but deceiving nonetheless. 

"I'm fine," Anakin managed before Obi-Wan could broach the subject.

"I didn't say anything," Obi-Wan reminded him.

"Not with your mouth, no," Anakin agreed. "But your expression gave you away."

Obi-Wan shrugged with a slow lift of shoulders. "I cannot help my concern for you, Anakin."

The hardness of Anakin's guarded stare softened just a touch as he closed the distance between them, his superior height made somehow more impressive by the slight heel of his boots.

"I guess I should escort you, then," he said, offering an arm to Obi-Wan with a smirk of his own. "I mean, you _are_ my elder." 

Eyeing the proffered arm with his best look of utter distaste, he turned an falsely exasperated gaze to the man beside him before slipping his arm over Anakin's own, hand resting upon his forearm. "And you still have much to learn, young one." 

"Yeah, yeah," Anakin dismissed. "Come on before we're late."

The other Jedi flicked his stare to Obi-Wan's own, the faintest hint of an abashed smile overtaking his smirk, and just for a moment, the uncertain, almost shy Padawan he had once known peered from behind the learned mask of composure that had become Anakin's Jedi identity. 

The fingers upon Anakin's mechanical forearm traced the fine fabric of the tunic, knowing his former apprentice could not feel it, but unable to stop himself just the same. 

(TBC . . .)


	5. You Speak My Internal Language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Operatic nonsense, unspoken feelings, and forgotten affections, oh my!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I head-canoned all this stuff about the Chiss and the language because this is fiction about other fiction. Also, I just felt like doing it this way because it suits the plot. I didn't it to be "canonically accurate," so if it isn't? WHEEELLP. That's why it's fiction . . . about fiction. ;)

Anakin's gaze swept the Grand Pavilion with a false air of indifference. Beneath the almost bored expression he portrayed to onlookers, his senses were a finely tuned unit, amassing and processing his surroundings within seconds. As a Jedi, the entire scene was at once whole and minutely detailed from the seating arrangements of the exorbitantly rich to the middle class commoners. Every inch of the auditorium was packed to capacity, each seat taken. Beings of every race and social cast congregated together in one space to witness a single performance.

Closing his eyes, Anakin reached out to the Force, aligning his energy with the vibration of it as the tapestry of individual energy signatures began to unravel until . . 

His eyes sprang open. _Not here. Not yet. But soon._

Beside him, Obi-Wan nodded. "I sense it, too." He gestured towards the central balcony with one hand. "The Council managed to procure us quite a view. We should be able to scan the audience fairly easily from there."

Anakin followed his gaze. "I wondered how they managed that."

It wasn't a question. The Jedi didn't often use their influence in such a manner. Anakin himself had been reprimanded for such coercion more than once. Then again, the Council often "reprimanded him" for more things than he could count.

Obi-Wan quirked an eyebrow. "Dear me, is that sarcasm I detect? Surely not from you."

"Hmmn," Anakin smirked. "Never." 

He shifted the lightsaber within the confines of his borrowed robe, brushing his fingers against the metal hilt more out of a subconscious need for comfort rather than actual concern that it might somehow become dislodged. Both he and Obi-Wan had given up their usual outer robes in favor of heavier, more formal ones. The thick material was a welcome barrier against the cold streets of Coruscant, yet even the plush thickness of the silk-lined velvet had not been enough to stave off Anakin's chill. It was as if the cold had somehow worked its way into his very being, leaving his muscles sluggish yet tight, a trickle of sweat ebbing its way down his back. 

It was through a sheer act of willpower with a bit of aid from the Force that he managed to keep his other symptoms at bay and at least project a somewhat convincing facade of normalcy. Aside from the occasional sniffle, he at least sounded almost as if nothing were amiss within him. Almost.

"It's been quite some time since I've seen any sort of theatrical or musical culture," Obi-Wan remarked as they ascended they ascended the stairs. "What a shame that it's under circumstances such as this."

"Right," Anakin all but muttered. 

As if the Council would actually allow them enjoy themselves, even on a scarce basis. 

After following Obi-Wan to the proper seats, he settled himself within the cushioned confines of his chair, grateful to be relieved from the burden of traipsing up so many flights of stairs. Such a thing was usually trivial to his physical stamina, but his current state made the simple act a tiring feat.  
A hand brushed the sleeve of his robe and he flicked his stare to Obi-Wan's gaze. Blue-green eyes narrowed with the slightest hint of a worried crinkle.

"How are you feeling?" Obi-Wan asked.

Was it _that_ obvious? 

Anakin laid a hand atop Obi-Wan's wrist with a small rendition of a smile. "I'll make it," he said.

Which about as close as he could come to telling the truth of the matter.

Thankfully, his former Master did not press the issue, but rather turned his attention to the organized chaos of the masses as lights began to dim. Judging by the way Obi-Wan sat in rather prim attention as compared to Anakin's slouching excuse for posture, the man was more interested in the production than he had let on. Interesting, considering Obi-Wan very rarely displayed any sort of personal indulgence in anything but tea. The barest hint of an almost wistful smile curved one side of his mouth, his gaze focused upon the stage with more than a passing intent.

"I guess I shouldn't be shocked that you like this kind of thing," Anakin mused, voice pitched to a soft murmur.

"Oh, yes," Obi-Wan said. "I quite fancy a good dramatic opera." He frowned a little, stroking the edges of his beard with two fingers as a blue-skinned Chiss swept his way across the main stage, voice booming with a commanding baritone. "Although I do wish I understood Cheunh a bit better. I haven't the faintest idea what the plot of this might be."

Anakin regarded the stage with a tilt of his head before leaning closer to Obi-Wan, voice pitched to a low rumble. 

"You see that Chiss female? She's in love with the Bothan that works in the garden, but her family forbids the mingling of the bloodlines. Sounds like it's a big deal." He flicked his gaze to the stage for a moment longer. "Her father is saying if she so much as hints at caring for this outsider, she'll be banished. Guess she's pretty upset about it."

Obi-Wan blinked as if startled. "You gathered all of that just from watching the performers?"

"No." Anakin flashed him a smile. "But I _can_ speak Cheuhn." 

"Can you really?" Obi-Wan tipped his head to one side. "That's a very obscure and difficult language to master, Anakin. However did you manage it?"

The younger Jedi shrugged one shoulder. "I found some books about it in an old cruiser I was fixing up for Watto. I figured he'd just toss them out, so I took them home with me and just started reading. You don't really have a lot of options for fun when you grow up a . . . " He paused for a moment to suppress a halting hitch of breath, pressing a knuckled finger to his nose with a cringe, grateful for an excuse not to speak the word he so often loathed to voice. "Like I did," he finished at last. 

Keeping his composure at some level of normal was beginning to take a toll, thanks to a spike in both his temperature and the sudden growing aggression of his symptoms. This was not to the time to lose his focus, not with the quiet hush that had fallen over the crowd as the beginnings of the story began to unfold. Drawing attention to himself and Obi-Wan was not an option. 

"And now?" Obi-Wan nodded towards to the stage.

Tension he did not realize his shoulders had gathered eased and Anakin slanted his posture back towards the other man.

"She's telling her friend she's going to defy her family's wishes to be with him," Anakin whispered. "And they're going to exile her for it. Maybe worse."

Beside him, Obi-Wan's fingers tensed upon the armrest with the faintest curl. "How very dreadful." 

"Yeah." Anakin pinched the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger. The damnable cold was doing its best to make discretion an impossibility.

His breath hitched again with a high, vocal catch that he could not swallow into nothingness, a wavering hand held just beneath his nose in habitual expectation. 

With a clench of teeth, he turned from Obi-Wan, ducking into the draping sleeve of his robe. The effort needed to contain the sneezes into a polite strangle of sound was enough to make his throat spasm and his eyes water.

A hand splayed between his shoulders as he sighed, punctuating it with a rather congested sniffle that made him cringe.

"I had a feeling this was not a very good idea." Obi-Wan's voice was a gentle lilt of concern, the hand rubbing an absent, yet soothing circle over his back.

"Maybe," Anakin half-agreed. "Forgive me, Master. I . . . need to step away for a moment." 

"Of course." Obi-Wan fished through the inner pockets of his robe for a moment before pressing a neatly folded square of cloth into the fingers of Anakin's gloved hand.

A tired, somewhat abashed smile curved one side of his mouth as he squeezed Obi-Wan's hand before rising to his feet. The gesture was a simple one, a discreet, yet kind thing. Always, the other man sensed his distress far before even Anakin himself was aware of such things. Leaning down as if to pass along a covert whisper, he raised a hand so that the sleeve of his robe curtained his profile from the view of onlookers and brushed a kiss along Obi-Wan's temple, smirking when his former Master all but jumped in surprise. 

"Thank you, _pukaneekee,_ " Anakin rumbled near his ear before disappearing into the nearest corridor, leaving his now-flustered companion alone upon the balcony. 

_______________

(TBC . . . . )


	6. Pukaneekee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan relives a profound memory of young Anakin while danger draws nearer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm stupidly proud of this chapter, I must say. It moved me to write it. I hope it gives at least one person a severe case of the feels! ;)

Obi-Wan's gaze fixated upon the sweeping operatic grandeur before him, but his focus remained elsewhere. 

The press of Anakin's lips upon his temple had branded him with a curious warmth that refused to relent long after the other Jedi had departed. For the third time, he passed the tips of his fingers over his skin, as if seeking to recapture it through touch alone. 

_Pukaneekee._

How long had it been since Anakin had spoken that word in such a way? A decade? Perhaps longer?

His gaze shifted to the faux garden of moon flowers and sun lilies that carpeted the leftmost area of the stage, a cleverly generated hologram that fooled the eye quite well for the most part. Such flora flourished within the confines of the Temple, a small field of which he had tended himself upon occasion. As a Padawan, both Obi-Wan and his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, had spent many an hour meditating in the gardens or simply enjoying the view. For as long as Obi-Wan could remember, the gardens had been a part of his childhood, a haven of sorts that he often took for granted.

That was until Qui-Gon had rescued Anakin.

The edges of the memory fused with the hazy glow of holographic lighting and perhaps against his better judgment, the Jedi Master allowed his mind to drift.

 

____________________________  
The journey had been a long one, a complexity of nuances and feelings that had left Obi-Wan in a state of confusion and unrest. How could his beloved Master wish to teach another? Was he to be discarded so easily?

"Master Obi-Wan." A small hand tugged at his tunic.

He glanced to the boy with a furrowed brow that he could not quite smooth into peaceful compliance, but the smile he managed held at least some semblance of gentleness. 

"Am I going to be a problem?"

Such uncertainty in the young voice. And yes, fear. Obi-Wan had been raised as a Jedi. Emotions of this nature were managed from an early age, younglings taught how to acknowledge them and allow them to pass through their minds. But this boy, this alleged child of the Prophecy, had no such training. In this moment, Anakin Skywalker was not some prodigal mystery charged with the task of bringing balance to the Force. He was simply a child who had been whisked away from the only life he had ever known and dropped into an uncertain future. 

Obi-Wan crouched before him, hands squeezing the small shoulders as the tension of his expression melded into a more genuine compassion.

"No, young one," he said. "You are no burden to me or to anyone else." He tipped his head to one side. "Have you ever seen a waterfall?" 

"A _what_ fall?" 

"Waterfall," Obi-Wan repeated. "It is exactly as it sounds . . . a cascade of water that forms a sort of curtain."

Anakin's blue eyes narrowed with such suspicion that Obi-Wan chuckled.

"You're making that up," the child informed him.

"Oh, no. I assure you that I most certainly am not." Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow. "Would you care to see one for yourself, then?"

"Okaaaay," Anakin said. "But I still think you're making it up." 

Obi-Wan rose to his feet. "Well," he began as he offered his hand to the boy. "I suppose we shall see, won't we?" 

Small fingers curled around his own without hesitation and Obi-Wan escorted his charge through the Temple until they reached the entrance to Temple greenhouse known as the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Coruscant had no open landscapes to speak, no forests or wild fields of greenery. Here within the lower levels of the Temple, life flourished in a paradoxical paradise, tended to with the utmost of care by both students and masters alike.

"Close your eyes," Obi-Wan instructed.

Anakin's gaze was full of the same suspicious scrutiny. "Why?"

Obi-Wan's smile edged closer to a smirk. "Humor me, would you?" 

The child cast him one more dubious look before complying, squeezing his eyes shut with an almost comical sort of squint. 

Satisfied that Anakin would not peek and break his word, Obi-Wan slid the doors open with a wave of his hand and guided the boy inside. 

"Alright," Obi-Wan said. "Have a look." 

The youngling's eyelids fluttered, as if he were unsure, but what began with hesitation ended in a gawking stare. His lips parted, mouth dropping open with a sharp gasp.

"Well?" Obi-Wan said.

Anakin dropped to his knees in the grass, hands clutching at the plush greenery with an almost involuntary clench of fingers as he glanced from the unending cascade of water from the nearest alcove to the field to the tangle of vine work that crept over the rocky ledges of the oldest fountain. Clusters of leaves sprouted tendrils of tender stalks, ripe with the promise of impending flowers while the decaying lacework of vines past their prime was covered anew with an overlay of faint green tendrils. 

"Why do I . . . ? I feel . . .so . . .so . . ." Anakin's small body trembled, his breath quickening to a shaking sort of pant. Tears clouded his gaze, pooling in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks.

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed as he knelt beside the boy, laying a hand upon his shoulder. "What?" he asked, voice gentle. "What is that you feel, Anakin?"

Anakin hugged himself with a shudder, eyes squeezing shut. Beneath Obi-Wan's knees, the faintest tremor shook the earthen floor, the sway of distant grasses a crescendoing rustle, the leaves of the nearest tree quivering with an unseen wind.

For a moment, a hint of panic seized him as he readied himself to scoop the boy from the ground upon which he knelt, until slow realization drained the fear into awe. The Living Force surged through his body with such intensity that he nearly gasped aloud, his hand clutching the fabric of Anakin's tunic with an unconscious fisting of fingers.

The Force itself seemed to pulse in time with the beat of his heart, connecting him not only to the boy beside him, but encompassing his entire being and melding him into himself, into the grass beneath his knees, the earth in which it dwelled. Nothing and everything at once. A single pulse. One entity. 

The Force not only recognized this child, it welcomed him as if he were the completion of an unseen puzzle, a missing piece that was now found.

A hand brushed his cheek and he blinked, struggling to focus on the small form before him.

"Master Obi-Wan." 

Another blink. "Y-yes?" 

Purple-edged petals hovered just before his gaze and he forced his eyes to focus.

"What's this?"

Obi-Wan stared at the bright hues of the star-blazed moon flower for what felt like a small eternity before he managed to recall exactly what he was looking at.

"That's a . . ." He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, hand still clasping Anakin's small shoulder. "It's a moon flower, Anakin."

"Moon . . . flower?" the boy repeated, as if the two words together in this manner were somehow foreign. And really, Obi-Wan assumed that they would be, given the fact that the child had grown up around little more than sand and silt. 

After a long moment, Anakin's eyes brightened with a sudden spark of recognition and he held the flower aloft. "Ah!" he declared. " _Pukaneekee!_ "

A bemused smile curved Obi-Wan's mouth. "What?"

" _Pukaneekee,_ " Anakin repeated. He glanced down at the flower still clasped between his fingers with mixture of wonder and sadness. "I've never seen a real flower before." He flicked his stare to Obi-Wan. "I shouldn't have picked it, though. Now, it will die."

"All living things must die at some point, Anakin," Obi-Wan said kindly. "But look, there are many more of them here. And you may keep that one, if you like. " Dropping his hand from the boy's shoulder, he tilted his head to one side, braid sliding over his shoulder. "Would you like to see a trick, then?"

"Trick?" Anakin said.

"Yes." Obi-Wan smiled in a playful, almost conspiratory fashion as he cupped his hands just beneath the nearest dormant moon flower bud. "Watch closely."

The boy's stare flicked to his hands as Obi-Wan drew a deep breath, reaching out to the Force and calling it to him. He felt his energy align with that of the stem between his fingers, felt the merging of his Force signature with that of the green stalk as if they were one and sent a message of gentle urgency to the plant to activate the most basic of natural responses. Slowly, the bud began to loosen, pale purple petals unfurling until the shell melded into the softness of a newly bloomed splendor.

Anakin gasped, crouching on hands and knees to peer at the flower in wonder, touching the fragile tip of the nearest petal with one finger, as if to make certain it was real.

"It's _magic!_ " he exclaimed.

"No," Obi-Wan said with a smile. "It is the Force."

"The Force," Anakin repeated. "Master Qui-Gon told me about it, but I'm not sure I understand." He beamed up at Obi-Wan with a grin. "Could _I_ try that?"

Obi-Wan's smile softened. "Well, I feel certain that in time you could manage as your knowledge of the Force increases, but it will take quite a while before . . ."

His words trailed into an amused sort of murmur as Anakin sat back on his heels, hands flat upon his thighs, eyes closing as he drew a deep inhalation. Ah, yes. Well, the boy was certainly in for a bit of a disappointment if he thought that--

The ground beneath Obi-Wan's knees felt as if it were tingling. More alive somehow. He pressed a hand to the verdant grasses in an instinctive gesture to calm it somehow, but the tremble surged to a vibration that seemed to resonate through his entire aura. A gasp tore from his throat, a hand flying to his chest as he sat back on his heels, eyes widening. Stalks of moon flowers burst into violent, almost chaotic bloom all around them, straining to life and wilting with effort only to be reborn again, purple faces tilted in proud allegiance to the artificial sky.

Obi-Wan willed his breathing to slow to a natural pace, attempted to summon peace and stability to his body, and found that neither were easily granted. Running a hand through the short spikes of his hair, he exhaled a breath he did not realize he had been holding and glanced at the boy.

Anakin's eyes popped open and he flashed Obi-Wan an eager, beaming grin. "Did I do it, Master?"

_____________________________

 

Obi-Wan's distant stare drifted back to the present and he reclined in his seat, stroking his beard with a thoughtful, almost absent gesture. Anakin had spent the afternoon traipsing about the Temple gardens, then, always with the single moon flower he had plucked somewhere within his sights. Later that evening, he had crawled into Obi-Wan's lap, thrown his arms around Obi-Wan's neck and hooked the flower just behind his ear.

" _Pukaneekee,_ " he had declared, planting a sloppy kiss on Obi-Wan's cheek before scampering off to join Qui-Gon in the kitchen area of their shared quarters. 

Later, he would tell his Master of the events in the gardens as if in awe, speaking with an ungraceful gesturing of his hands. Qui-Gon had merely smiled.

A smile from his Master was a rare event. It was the last one he had seen.

Sighing to himself, Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair and glanced back towards the stage. No, he would not think of this now. One would think that after more than a decade, the random bouts of sadness would cease.

He sat up a bit straighter, feigning interest in the events below while scanning the skyboxes with his peripheral vision. The energy of the crowd was mundane, if not unnaturally so for an event such as this. Perhaps his intuition had gone awry somehow. In a way, it would be a relief. Poor Anakin's suffering had spiked to noticeable level despite his best efforts to conceal it. The younger man was perpetually on the verge of a sneeze or coughing fit, his composure compromised by a combination of fever and fatigue. Getting him back to the Temple as soon as possible was obviously in his best interests before his symptoms grew any worse. 

And he was taking quite a while tending to whatever symptoms had caused his departure in the first place. Unease began to settle in the muscles of Obi-Wan's shoulders, tensing his body to a level of discomfort that left him shifting in his seat.

_Something was wrong. Something was--_

A ripple in the Force tugged at his senses and the Jedi Master stiffened with silent alarm. Dark vengeance draped the Pavilion like heavy, unseen fog.

Their quarry was here. And Anakin was in his sights.

________________________

(TBC . . . !)


	7. I Don't Think You're a Jedi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin reluctantly considers that perhaps this mission wasn't in his best interests while danger makes its presence known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uggggh, Anakin. I almost feel like I should apologize to him for making him so increasingly miserable, but . . . I'm not gonna. ;) Also, this is a slightly hasty edit, so if there are mistakes, I'll fix them later!

Anakin's lingering smile dissolved into a frown as he stepped away from the balcony. Too many being in the hallways for any sort of privacy and he was more than a little unwilling to concede to the whims of whatever symptomatic horror his body had planned in the presence of others.

He sauntered down the corridor with a fluttering of robes until he reached the first exit he could find, a platform of sorts generally reserved for smoking whatever terrible herbs one might wish to inhale without inflicting the misery of it on anyone else.

And speaking of misery . . .

A quick glance around revealed an area devoid of people and the Jedi claimed it for his own, stepping through the sliding doors with a swish of fabric. Bracing, frigid wind greeted him, the abrupt shift in temperature the final vexation to his already overly sensitive nose.

The tickle seized him with a vengeance, surging to a burn the moment he dared draw breath and the Jedi fumbled for the square of cloth stashed in his robe. He barely managed to clamp it over his mouth in time, muffling several sneezes and a rather wracking fit of coughing into the material. 

Leaving the handkerchief in place for a moment, he groaned into the soft fabric and wrapped his gloved hand around the nearest bit of railing to steady himself.

_Stars, this had been a terrible idea._

A sudden tug at his robe nearly sent him grappling for his lightsaber until the voice that accompanied it stopped him short.

"Are you a Jedi?"

He glanced down, fumbling the handkerchief into a ball of fabric with his viable hand. Not an assassin. A wide-eyed, innocent (if not incredulously staring) youngling. The child was a blue-skinned Twi'lek, headtails just beginning to sprout to a decent length, a lacy headpiece affixed near the base of her lekku.

"Well, _are_ you?" she pressed.

"Where's your mother, little one?" he asked instead of answering.

"Inside." She stared up at him with the sort of gawking scrutiny only youth could manage. "I don't think you're a Jedi."

"You don't, huh." He managed a quiet sniffle behind his gloved hand before regarding her with an assessing tilt of his head. "Why is that?"

"You're pretty sick," she declared. " _Jedi_ don't get sick."

Lines of irritation creased the space between his eyebrows. "I'm _not --_ " 

Was he really going to argue with a child over the absolutely obvious? Perhaps Obi-Wan had been right about his propensity for automatic denial. Squaring his shoulders, he allowed the retort to die on his tongue.

"Everyone gets sick at least once," he said instead. 

The young Twi'lek shook her head. " _Jedi_ don't."

"Well." Anakin shrugged a shoulder. "Guess I'm not what you thought, am I?"

"Not if you're sick," the child said matter-of-factly.

Anakin chuckled in spite of himself. "Okay," he said. "Time for you to go back inside and find your---"

The energetic field around him shifted and compressed, his every sense prickling to attention. Dark intent blackened the vibrant intricacy of the Force and the energy roiled against itself like a wave caught in the crossfire of a turbulent wind.

Instinct positioned him in front of the Twi'lek, who clutched at his robe in confusion as she peered around the protective stance of his body.

"What's wrong?" she whisper-shouted from behind him.

Wherever his adversary was, the distance between them was closing far too fast for his liking. 

"Come with me," he said. " _Now._ " 

He held out his gloved hand and the child curled hesitant fingers around it as he led her back into the confines of the hallway. From the opposite end of the corridor, screams erupted.

Anakin uttered a curse in Huttese, snatching the Twi'lek from the ground with one hand, lightsaber out and ignited in the other.

"In here," he ordered, ushering the child into the nearest supply closet. "Stay there. No matter what you hear, stay inside."

The small Twi'lek nodded, her lower lip quivering with a soft whimper.

"It'll be fine," he assured. Shedding the thick velvet robe, he draped it around her shoulders, a lopsided smile curving his mouth when the material all but swallowed her tiny frame. "Keep that for me. I'll come back for you, okay?"

"Okay . . ." the young female said as she shrank against the nearest shelf, clutching the heavy velvet to her body.

Easing the door shut, he drew upon the energy of the Force and darted down the hallway, a blur of leather and darkness against the pale walls. Every muscle in his body protested as he vaulted over the nearest railing and rebounded off the desk of a shocked attendant, skidding to an abrupt halt just shy of the balcony doors.

The scaly visage of his adversary met him, reptilian eyes cold and assessing, one clawed finger skirting the edges of hand-held trigger of sorts with a casual, almost sensual stroke.

"So, _Jedi,_ " the Trandoshan spat the word as if it were filth between his lips. "Here we are again. Missed me, did you?"

The hum of Anakin's lightsaber matched the low sound of derision that ebbed from somewhere deep in his chest. "You're a real boring date," Anakin said at last, wincing when his voice cracked and the words trailed into a cough.

"Is that so?" The reptilian male cocked his head to one side. "You know, you don't sound so good, boy. Got a touch of Corellian fever, perhaps? I hear that can be deadly in humans."

Anakin's eyes narrowed as the creature's lips split in a nasty grin that was all jagged teeth and sarcasm. 

"Why don't you come closer and find out?" Anakin taunted as he advanced, glowing blade at the ready.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the Trandoshan said. Grasping the edge of his coat, he pulled back the lapel.

Anakin's eyes betrayed no shift in emotional state, but his heart hammered in his chest at the sight of what now stood before him. Strapped to the scaly flesh was a network of twisted wires and metal coils, connected not only into a ticking timer of death, but embedded in the being himself.

The reptilian male was a living, breathing bomb.

(TBC . . . )


	8. Chapter 8:  Trigger Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan provides a sassy distraction while Anakin forces his body to comply with what needs to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene did not go as planned lol. But then again, they never do. Also, there shouldn't be any of my "edit placeholders" left by accident like last time. I often do this when I can't remember the spelling of a species name or a particular item, but sometimes I forget to delete them all later. If you find one, please ignore it. My other beta will catch it and I'll fix it soon enough. :)

"What will you do now, Jedi? Kill me, and everyone here dies with me. Try to take me into custody and I'll press a button to end it all before you can take your first step. Either way, death is on your hands." 

Anger surged through him, boiling his blood with fevered heat. How could the Council have underestimated this criminal to such a degree? If only Anakin had managed to capture him the night before without his blasted illness clouding his judgment and --

"Come now, Lasidrus. Surely we can be civilized about this matter."

The familiar voice snapped his thoughts into the present. The terrified crowd had parted, revealing his former Master, saber at the ready although not ignited, the casual nature of his strolling walk belying the lethal accuracy of any movement he might choose to make. 

_"Kenobi,"_ the now-named Lasidrus snarled. "I should have known they'd send you when _this one_ couldn't handle me on his own." He jerked a thumb at Anakin with a mocking smirk before continuing. " And it is I who have the upper hand for negotiation in this matter. You have no say in this!"

"Oh, but there is always room for negotiation," Obi-Wan continued as he ambled ever closer. "Surely you have terms for this endeavor. There must be something you desire above all else or you simply wouldn't resort to such nonsense."

The pleasant nature of Obi-Wan's word were conversational, but Anakin did not miss the shrewd glint of his gaze, nor the angle of his body as he walked. His former Master was no fool.

Although Obi-Wan's eyes never left the reptilian face, his words rang in Anakin's through their bond as if they had spoken aloud.

 _Do what must be done, Anakin._

The Trandoshan was ignoring him, stare concentrated on Obi-Wan, as if Anakin were of no concern at all. Confident. Cocky. And fatally mistaken.

Anakin's body was in motion before his mind could command his muscles to move, lightsaber arcing through the air in blur of blue. Propelled by the Force, he somersaulted over the head of the Trandoshan and the scene translated into slow motion detail. One clawed hand raised, finger poised to detonate the trigger, traveling ever faster towards the button.

Until it wasn't.

The lightsaber slashed at a downward angle as Anakin's leap morphed into a dive roll across the tile, coming to his feet with graceful ease. Severed, smoking fingers flopped to the floor with a sickening slap of scaled flesh. A screeching wail ricocheted off the walls and the reptilian male punched at his own chest with a fingerless hand as Obi-Wan seized his shoulders, pinning his free arm behind his back.

"Jedi fools!" Lasidrus spat. "The timer is still activated. You have done nothing to save yourselves!" 

Anakin stalked forward, lightsaber still humming at his side as Obi-Wan locked the struggling Trandoshan into an upright stance. Tearing the bomb from the scaly flesh would do nothing if he could not disable it. Or worse, it might hasten the job. 

His eyes traveled the length of the trigger point, the white tangle of wires betraying no clue as to which bundle might need severing. Deactivating the lightsaber, Anakin shoved the business end of the weapon against Lasidrus's throat, gaze flattening to cold, impersonal calculation.

His free hand rose as he pressed his advantage. "You will tell me which set of wires will disarm this bomb."

Lasidrus sneered. "I will die first."

Anakin grasped the collar of the struggling Trandoshan's coat, jerking him closer. "I _said---_ " The hand before the rounded snout waved with a slow, deliberate motion. "You _will tell me_ which set of wires will disarm this bomb."

Obi-Wan's gaze flicked to his own in stern warning, but Anakin's use of "aggressive negotiations" did not falter. The Force surged through him, bending the will of the creature before him, weaving its way into the fabric of his mind and unraveling it.

"Your mind tricks . . . will not work . . on . . . on . . ." the growling hiss of a voice wavered, but the Trandoshan's body was set to betray him, the arch of his pinned shoulder wriggling in answer to Anakin's demand.

Tearing the fabric away with one hand, Anakin exposed a blinking panel cobbled together with copper wiring. Intuition was a flawless guide. Without a second thought, Anakin's eyes fluttered closed but for a moment before the sharpness of his gaze focused on the flesh-mounted computer work. With a clench of his fist and a twist of his wrist, the cluster of wires near the leftmost corner twined and broke apart, the glowing screen that scrolled across the front of the device going dark.

"Gonna be real hard to make more of these in prison, isn't it? Especially without your fingers." Anakin leaned closer, lips scant inches from the assassin's face, his breath a hot caress upon the scaly skin. "Oh, and I'm contagious."

The reptilian male's lipless mouth peeled into a snarl as Anakin drew back, his own lips curving into a knowing smirk. 

"Excuse me for a moment, Master. There is something I must attend to."

Security and local authority figures hurried past him as he sauntered back towards the supply closet, sliding the heavy door open with a wave of his hand. As promised, the young Twi'lek still cowered in the corner, obscured by his robe save the tip one headtail which twitched nervously at his approach.

"It's okay, little one. It's just me," he said.

The small female peered over the edges of his robe, eyes widening as he clipped his lightsaber to the slender belt concealed by his vest.

"You _are_ a Jedi," she said. "I knew it!"

Anakin's smirk returned. "Did not." He offered his gloved hand to the child, who slipped her fingers into his grasp, dragging his robe behind him like a comically large blanket. "Let's find your---"

"Mom!" the child crowed as she peeked around his leg.

Dropping his robe to the ground, she scampered across the hallway and into the arms of purple-skinned female, who scooped her from the floor as if she weighed nothing at all. 

As he knelt to gather his robe from the floor, the child's laughter reached his ears as she relayed the events with an excited flurry of chatter. He had been much the same at her age, always eager to prattle on about his daily adventures, mundane as they were. But never mundane to Shmi. No, his mother had always shown such genuine interest in his words, seeming to delight in them.

A heavy sigh escaped him. By now, one would think the memory would have shifted and the pleasantries of his time with his mother would overshadow the grief, but sorrow was a tenacious entity that had never truly relented. A Jedi should be able to move past his more visceral emotions, but nothing of that nature came easily to Anakin. It never had.

Heaving himself to his feet proved to be a difficult task, the world shifting violently to one side as he rose and the Jedi struggled to keep himself upright with the aid of a hand against the wall. To the casual onlooker, the gesture was an inconspicuous one, but for Anakin, it was a sustained effort that took nearly all of his energy. 

Fever ravaged his body, weakening both his physical and emotional state, blurring the edges of his reality until the scene before him seemed to fuse into a dreamlike state. The robe slipped from his fingers as he leaned against the wall to steady himself, the chill of cold sweat dampening his tunic beneath his vest.

If he could just stand still long enough to gather his remaining energy, to draw upon the Force to strengthen him, he could manage. Just for a while longer.

(TBC . . .)


	9. No Ordinary Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin's reserves falter and Obi-Wan's concern mounts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit short, but I didn't want to switch perspectives mid-scene for the sake of a longer one. Hnngh, I can't stop writing this thing! Also, if you happen know any artists who might fancy a commission (or if you yourself are one), hit me up in the "Comments" section because I absolutely need art of this hurt/comfort business like I need air. TAKE MY MONEY! DO IT!

"We can take it from here, Master Kenobi," the captain of the disciplinary squad was saying. "We cannot thank the Jedi enough for their help in this matter."

Obi-Wan nodded as the task force secured the fugitive with an array of laser cuffs and locks. "No thanks are required, but the sentiment is appreciated."

He glanced towards the hallway, his polite smile faltering to a frown. 

Anakin was leaning against the wall, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. Obi-Wan did not miss the slump of his shoulders, the parting of his lips as he struggled to breathe without effort, the darkening patches of skin beneath his eyes that stood in stark contrast to his fair skin. The younger man was a waning shadow of his usual vitality, plagued by fever and over exertion. 

Leaving the authorities to process Lasidrus, he walked over to where Anakin stood doing his best to suppress a ragged fit of coughing. He bent to retrieve the ornate robe, draping it over his arm for a moment until Anakin managed to get his bearings, blinking at him with a bleary stare.

"Come on, then." Obi-Wan's voice was gentle as he held the discarded robe out to his companion. "Let's get you out of here."

"Are they--" Anakin's voice cracked and he cleared his throat with what looked to be a painful swallow. "Are they going to process him without us?"

"They've no need for us," Obi-Wan said. "They have taken him into custody and he will be dealt with accordingly. We are free to go."

"I usually go with them," Anakin said as he shrugged on the robe. "At least until they've ray-shielded him in his new cage."

"No need," Obi-Wan said once more. 

"No." Anakin shook his head. "It's my fault that this happened in the first place. I should--"

" _Nothing_ happened," Obi-Wan reminded him. "We were here to stop it beforehand. And you, my young friend, are in no condition to go anywhere but back to the Temple." 

Watery blue eyes regarded him with tired defiance, as if it were the best rendition of a threat he could manage, but the expression melded into a helpless collapse as Anakin turned from him with a shoulder-shuddering sneeze that seemed to deplete what little energy he had left.

"Alright," Obi-Wan said as he closed the distance between them. "That's enough of your nonsense."

The softness of his voice belied the chiding nature of the words as he slipped an arm beneath the draping fullness of the robe. 

"I _can_ walk, Obi-Wan," Anakin said gruffly. But he rested an arm across his former Master's shoulders just the same.

"Well, I should hope so," Obi-Wan said with his typical conversational ease. "It might look quite odd if I carried you."

Anakin gave a half-hearted chuckle in response, the lack of sarcastic response speaking far more about his condition than his visible symptoms ever could. And then, there was the matter of the heat that all but radiated from the other Jedi's body. Anakin's fever had risen to a substantial level since their arrival. The bond of their Force signatures told him as much without having to brush a hand over his forehead. 

"We will take the hovertrain," Obi-Wan said. Faster and less expensive than an air taxi, not to mention a bit more private, if one knew which route to take at this time of night. Which Obi-Wan did.

When Anakin did not so much as protest the option, Obi-Wan's concern grew. This was no ordinary cold that plagued his former apprentice. The symptoms were far more volatile, his temperature too high. Perhaps Anakin would grouse about it, but a visit from the Temple healers was definitely in order at this point. But for now, Obi-Wan focused on shuffling the ailing Jedi through the crowds with as little interaction with others as possible. Concealing their movements to non-Force sensitive beings was easy enough and as much as Obi-Wan enjoyed conversing just about anyone, now was not the time. 

The streets of Coruscant were a bustling haven of activity at any given moment, but the operatic event had drawn many of the citizens to an evening of finery and culture. He did hope that somehow, the show had been able to proceed despite the near "interruption." 

After walking several blocks, Anakin's pace was beginning to flag to the point of concern, although the younger man would never admit to such a thing. Perhaps he shouldn't have made that joke about carrying him, after all.

"Almost there," he said more for his own sake than for that of the Jedi beside him.

He barely managed to half-drag Anakin through the sliding doors of the nearest car before sinking onto the durasteel bench near the back, Anakin's arm still draped over his shoulders.

Just in time as it would seem, at least according to Anakin's groan of a sigh. _Thank the Force._

"There, now," he murmured, brushing a sweat-dampened curl from Anakin's forehead. "It shouldn't take us long to get back to the Temple."

"Mmmhmm," Anakin mumbled.

The arm slid from his shoulders and the other Jedi sat up a bit straighter, running a hand through his mess of waves.

"I'll just . . . close my eyes for a minute. To meditate," Anakin said.

"Alright," Obi-Wan said as Anakin folded his arms and sat back. 

Still, Anakin's shoulder brushed his own with a hint of pressure that Obi-Wan did not speak of. Instead, he simply allowed it, positioning himself so that it appeared to be his own choice rather than Anakin's exhaustion that drove the posture. 

It wasn't until the touching of shoulders became a heavy lean that Obi-Wan realized his stricken companion had dozed off.

_______________________________

_(TBC . . .. miserable bastard!)_


	10. The Facade Crumbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin's reflects on the Jedi he has become while his worsening condition blurs the line between friendship and something more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Help me. That is all. (Also, please excuse any minor errors. Still waiting on second beta to get back to me!)

Anakin awoke with a start, his own congested breathing a hindrance that made even meditation impossible. Or sleeping, as the case may sheepishly be.

"Sorry," he mumbled. 

An arm draped his shoulder, urging him closer and deeming the apology unnecessary. Against what might be his better judgment, Anakin leaned into the touch, curling his body into something smaller than his stature could ever suggest. 

"Almost there." Obi-Wan's voice was a soothing purr against his ear. 

"Mmmn." Anakin's wordless murmur was the best response he could manage without sending himself into a fit of coughing. 

The voluminous fabric of Obi-Wan's borrowed cloak enfolded him and Anakin shifted closer, head resting near the other man's collarbone. His former Master was far warmer than the contrasting cold of the durasteel bench near the back of the carriage.

Obi-Wan rested his chin atop Anakin's head, fingers idly stroking the soft waves. "You did well tonight," he said. "Your methods are sometimes questionable, but I cannot deny that your skills as a Jedi are growing. You have already surpassed me in many ways."

Anakin's fingers trailed the sliver of skin visible between the ascot and the vest before clutching the fabric with his viable hand. Perhaps the words of his former Master were true in some ways, but in others? Doubt suffused him. Prowess with a saber was one thing. Fighting skill was a learned art. But the core of the Jedi Code required patience and the willingness to change one's inner being, to mold one's self to a near unattainable ideal. Obi-Wan was a splendid example of such feats with both his demeanor and his intellect working with harmonious ease, his compassion for others nearly unmatched. 

Perhaps the label of "Chosen One" had been bequeathed to Anakin for metaphysical reasons, but it was by no means an earned title. Not to the young Jedi, who currently curled himself against his Master as if he were a child in need of comfort and shelter.

"I do not have your judgment or your skill with words," Anakin murmured with a sniffle. 

A hand rubbed the space between his shoulders, sliding to pull him closer. "Oh, I am not so sure that's an accurate statement."

The wistful sort of amusement in Obi-Wan's tone did not go unnoticed by Anakin, even if he was currently diverting a good deal of his energy to steadying his breathing in an effort to fend off another cold-induced sinus rebellion. Heaving an aggravated sigh, he untangled himself from Obi-Wan's embrace, holding a hand aloft to silence his former Master's questioning for the moment.

"Anakin . . ." Obi-Wan's matching sigh was more sympathy than rebuke. "You needn't be polite for my sake. It isn't as if I have not seen this from you all evening." 

"It's not that," Anakin said, pressing a knuckled finger to one side of his nose. "I can't find the---"

Obi-Wan pressed a second square of cloth into his hand and Anakin barely had time to register the action before his body overrode his precarious control. A shuddering inhalation traversed his shoulders and he bent into a throat-scraping fit of sneezing, only half-muffled by the handkerchief he had managed to clamp over his mouth just in time. A weak smattering of coughing trailed the wake of the fit and a groan slipped from his lips as he leaned back against the wall, raking his hair from his face with one hand.

"Thank you," he managed, voice a raspy rendition of its usual depth. "I must have . . . dropped the other."

"I figured you might," Obi-Wan said. "I _do_ come prepared, you realize." 

"I know," Anakin mumbled. 

He struggled through another heaving breath that caught and wavered as if to taunt him, but the urge refused to manifest, trailing into a frustrated sigh punctuated by sniffling.

Gentle fingers slid along the edge of his jaw, cupping one side of his face.

"Oh, Anakin." The blue-green of Obi-Wan's eyes regarded him with a familiar crinkle of concern, the creases that etches his brow only serving to add to the expression. 

" _I know, I know._ " The younger Jedi pinched the bridge of his nose with a wince. "I shouldn't have gone after him like this, but I had to, Obi-Wan. I just couldn't sit around knowing I had failed, even if I felt --"

Obi-Wan's sudden embrace silenced his rambling and he stiffened in surprise for a moment before allowing hesitant hands to settle over the other man's body. A hand sifted through his hair, rubbed the back of his neck. Such a simple, yet soothing gesture. The feverish Jedi felt his shoulders sag against his will, the bulk of his weight leaning into the embrace before he could convince himself to do otherwise.

"It's alright, my dear one," Obi-Wan said. "None of that matters now." 

Grateful that this particular carriage was blissfully empty, Anakin muffled a cough into his sleeve and allowed himself to be held for the moment, the shift of fabric against his skin an uncomfortable ache.

"You are . . . so good to me," Anakin murmured. "Always."

Fingers laced through his own with a gentle squeezing of hands and Anakin sighed, cradling the hand to his chest as it were a coveted thing. The soft murmur of Obi-Wan's voice registered near his ear, but the words were lost as the fever-weary Jedi slipped into darkness once more.

______________________

_(TBC . . . he's trying to kill me . . . )_


	11. I Will Do What I Must

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Temple healer attempts to make Anakin a bit more comfortable while Obi-Wan attempts to come to terms with a crisis of conscience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long part! I kind of had to plod through the "plotty" bits in order to get to the end part that I was just dying to write, but sometimes, that's necessary. Although quite honestly? I want to STRANGLE Kenobi now, ha ha! You'll see why.

The Temple was quiet at this hour, the younglings slumbering peacefully in their quarters, Masters and Knights in meditation or quiet reflection. None were there to witness Obi-Wan struggle to keep his companion upright as they navigated the hallways. He made sure of that. The last thing Anakin would want was an influx of fussing from others. He had a difficult time accepting such gestures from anyone. Such a thing had always troubled Obi-Wan to some degree, the way Anakin refused aid and took most unkindly to criticism of any sort. And he suspected most of it was his doing in a way. Anakin had learned through observation.

By watching _him._

Even ravaged by fever, the younger man managed to present a temporary stoic facade when the occasion called for it, but it had cost him. Dearly.

"Almost there," Obi-Wan said for what seemed to be the hundredth time that evening. The words had become his automatic comfort mantra, for it disguised his mounting concern for Anakin's condition. Poorly.

The younger man had grown steadily worse since the encounter at the opera house, his illness an unrelenting plague of symptoms that Anakin could no longer suffer through with any sort of convincing dignity.

"Just a bit further, Anakin," Obi-Wan said more for himself than for his ailing companion.

Had the hallway always been such distance? He could not remember it being quite so long. Anakin's racking cough spurred him to call upon the Force and expedite their journey. The fact that Anakin all but allowed himself to be carried was the most worrisome symptom of all. 

Once safely within the confines of their shared quarters, Obi-Wan guided the now shivering Jedi back to the bed. Anakin's soft groan broadcasted his misery as Obi-Wan began to unbuckle the ornate boots and pull them away from his body. The vest and tunic followed with relative ease, but it was the pants that gave him pause.

The supple leather had all but molded itself to Anakin's body. Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow. How in the galaxy had he managed to wrangle himself into them in the first place?

And just how in this cosmos was he supposed to get them off again.

"Blast," he grumbled.

Well, he couldn't very well allow Anakin to sleep in what would soon become damp leather. 

His eyes traveled the length of Anakin's body, the hard planes of his torso carved of pale muscle, honed from years of training. Obi-Wan himself had been made lean by the same events, yet the two of them were immeasurably different. Anakin was sleek with definition, more muscular than Obi-Wan himself, broader of chest and shoulders, taller and heavier than his former Master. Every inch of the younger man was lethal perfection, an instrument of peace driven to acts of war.

Obi-Wan exhaled a breath he did not realize he had been holding and set about the task of putting aside his thoughts in favor of disrobing his oblivious former Padawan. His movements were slow, methodical as he unfastened the clasp that held the leather closed, peeling the sweat-slickened fabric away from Anakin's skin with care.

_Thank the Force he had the decency to wear undergarments for once._

Gathering the finery from the floor, he carted it to the nearest chair, draping each piece there in a haphazard haste before marching into the 'fresher to procure a damp cloth. 

What Anakin really needed was a cool bath, but until could manage to get some degree of conscious response out of him, that was simply out of the question. Back when Anakin had been far younger, Obi-Wan had taken care of him in much the same manner when the boy had become feverish and ill. A myriad of different species brought all manner of colds and flu-like fevers to the crèche, some of which were species-specific, but many of which were shared miseries. Anakin had developed a rather robust immunity due to his interactions with many types of beings on Tatooine, rarely falling ill and healing much faster when he did, thanks to his strong connection to the Living Force. As an adult, illness was even less common to him, although cold temperature changes did have tendency to bring about quite a bit of sniffling and sneezing from him. Not mention anything with feline DNA. An unfortunate interlude with several oddly well-meaning Zygerrians came to mind. What a fiasco that had been for everyone involved.

A smile quirked one side of his mouth at the memory. Anakin was more than capable of appearing menacing, if not frightening when he wished it, but it had been quite difficult to manage with his face half-buried in Obi-Wan's handkerchief most of the time. 

Wringing out the towel just enough to keep it from dripping, he made his way back into Anakin's sleeping quarters and rested the folded cloth on the side of his neck with gentle care, wincing in sympathy when the other man groaned, as if the mere touch of such a thing pained him somehow.

"There, now," Obi-Wan murmured, tracing a path down to his collar bone with the edge of the cool fabric. 

Anakin's skin was a brush of alarming heat against his hand and the Jedi Master paused, brow furrowing in concern. The younger man needed something more than a cold compress.

Snatching his comlink from the stand beside the bed, he contacted the sector of the Temple which housed the healers and relayed the information of Anakin's condition as briefly as possible, ending the transmission with an order to hurry. Not typical of his usual patience, but in this case . . .

Anakin had gone disturbingly still beneath his touch, his breathing a labored rasp, sweat trickling from his brow. The pallor of his skin had shifted to a waxy paleness that suffused even his fevered flush, draining his complexion of color. 

Obi-Wan licked suddenly dry lips. Something was very wrong.

Less than five minutes later, a knock at the door sounded and Obi-Wan all but scrambled to his feet to answer it, ushering the human healer into their quarters with an anxious gesturing of his hands.

"In here," Obi-Wan was saying as the healer made his way into Anakin's sleep quarters. "I . . . I cannot seem to get a response from him."

The wizened eyes of the healer scanned Anakin's prone body with far greater accuracy than any medical droid could ever manage as he sat upon the edge of the bed, his hand brushing Anakin's cheek.

"His body has simply endured too much. Not to worry, Master Kenobi. He will awaken soon enough," the healer said as he dug through his pouch for a syringe. "Although I'm sure you shall do so, anyway."

The healer's voice was light with amusement, a fact that caused Obi-Wan to frown as he raked a hand through his hair. What was that supposed to mean? Had he a reputation for such things?

After taking a moment to inspect Anakin's pale countenance a bit further, the healer jabbed the business end of the syringe into Anakin's shoulder with a precise flick of his fingers.

"He's a bit old for this," he continued, as he smoothed Anakin's hair away from his forehead. "One usually sees this in younglings around the age of 5 or so."

"Sees _what,_ exactly?" Obi-Wan quelled his impatience to a civilized question.

The healer removed a medical scanner from the pouch at his side. "I feel certain this is Corellian fever," he said as he swept the scanner over Anakin's body. He tapped the screen with a knowing nod. "Yes, this confirms it." 

"Corellian fever," Obi-Wan repeated with a stroke of his beard. "I didn't think adults were susceptible to it."

"Most aren't," the healer said. "It is usually a childhood illness. Immunity is developed after one has had it. Obviously, our Chosen One never came into contact with it." 

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes, I had it when I was a boy. It was quite dreadful."

"It usually is," the healer said. He flicked his stare to Obi-Wan. "And it's worse for adults."

"Oh dear," Obi-Wan sighed.

"You'll have to keep him isolated from anyone who might come into contact with younglings for at least a week," the healer continued. "Possibly more, if necessary. It's highly contagious." He peered over the edges of his glasses at Obi-Wan. "I will, of course, have to take him to the isolation chamber, unless you can keep him here."

As if the isolation chamber was actually some kind of option for Anakin. Stars, Obi-Wan could imagine the ferocity of Anakin's complaints over such a thing. Not to mention the threats, as well as the fact that he would refuse to stay there. And make good on it. 

"No, no, that won't be necessary," Obi-Wan said with a wave of his hand. "I am perfectly capable of caring for him here on my own."

"Hmmn," the healer mused. "You _do_ have immunity, if you've had this particular virus. Very well, then. If you are certain of your ability. There is little to be done for Corellian fever but rest and fluids. I shall send a medical droid by with something to help with his congestion. I expect he's done quite a bit of sneezing and sniffling, yes?"

Obi-Wan side-eyed the healer with a half-lidded stare. "You have no idea." 

"The shot I administered should bring his fever down to a manageable level, but I suggest you get him into a cool bath, if he can manage it. It is best to let the fever break on its own in adults, but the injection will make him a bit more comfortable for a while. Otherwise, see to it that he behaves himself." The healer adjusted his glasses as he rose to his feet. "Perhaps I should send a sedative."

"Is that necessary for him?" 

"Not for him," the healer said. "For _you._ "

Obi-Wan blinked. "I beg your pardon." 

"Apologies, Master Kenobi. I have merely heard stories of how difficult it was to mentor the . . . well, never mind that. I am reachable anytime you feel you may need me." The healer gave a short bow as he rose to his feet. "Do not worry for Master Skywalker, if you can manage it."

The Jedi Master arched an eyebrow with a well-timed huff that seemed to amuse the healer. Much to his utter chagrin. 

After showing the man out, he detoured to his own room where he shed the formal clothing, giving the boots one last appreciative look before retiring it all to closet. He would return the items to the proper persons another day. Right now, he had more important things to concern himself with.

Dressed in a simple white sleep tunic and pants, he ventured back to where Anakin still rested, albeit fitfully. Despite the healer's assurance that the shot would bring Anakin some measure of comfort, it simply did not appear to be so. A fine sheen of sweat coated his fair skin, a perpetual shiver racking his body.

Obi-Wan frowned. _No, this would not do._

Pushing the blankets aside, the Jedi Master climbed into the bed beside his shivering companion and slid his arms around Anakin's shoulders, drawing him closer. Fingers wrapped around his sleep tunic, clutching at the material with a far firmer grip than Obi-Wan had anticipated as Anakin curled himself tight against Obi-Wan's body.

"I'm s-so cold," he mumbled into the soft fabric.

"I know," Obi-Wan's voice was gentle as he threaded his fingers through the sweat dampened waves. "Shall I fetch your night garments for you?"

"N-no," Anakin said. "Stay." 

"Alright," Obi-Wan murmured. 

He tugged the blankets over Anakin's shoulders, tucking them around his body until only the disheveled waves atop his head were visible. Once the feverish man had tucked himself tight against Obi-Wan's body, he reached out to the Force with a plea for assistance. While Obi-Wan's ability to use Force energy for healing was slight, he could at least offer what he knew to soothe Anakin's suffering. 

He sent his focus to the heat of Anakin's skin, visualizing the cooling pulse of the Force suffusing it, sifting through each layer of discomfort with slow, methodical determination until the trembling of Anakin's body began to subside. A low, rumbling noise of relief escaped the younger man as he relaxed in Obi-Wan's embrace, the fingers that so desperately clutched at his tunic releasing their grip to a more manageable hold. 

"There, now." Obi-Wan rubbed the space between his bare shoulders for a moment. "That's better, isn't it?" 

The dry heat of Anakin's lips pressed through the bristles that adorned the curve of his jaw and lingered there for what felt to be an eternal heartbeat before slipping away.

"What's . . . wrong with me," Anakin mumbled, cheek resting against the open V of skin exposed through the loosely wrapped tunic.

"We shall discuss it later," Obi-Wan said. "Rest now."

Anakin nuzzled the underside of his chin with a sniffle, lips dragging the slightest hint of a kiss down his throat and Obi-Wan commanded his body to relax rather than stiffen, ordered the sudden flush that threatened to rise into cool submission.

"You smell good, _pukaneekee,_ " Anakin rumbled against the side of his neck.

"Now surely the fever has reached your brain," Obi-Wan said with an almost nervous sort of chuckle. "You cannot possibly detect my scent as you are now." 

"I can," Anakin said.

"That's your fever talking," Obi-Wan said.

"No," Anakin assured him. "Not my fever." 

The movement of Anakin's lips against his skin as he spoke was hot, ticklish pressure and Obi-Wan's awareness shifted to hard curve of Anakin's body against his own, the lithe musculature of his torso, the smoothness of his fair skin.

Surely the other man was delirious and hadn't the faintest clue as to just what his words suggested. Anakin would most likely forget his ramblings once the fever had broken. 

As the other man draped an arm over his body and edged closer for comfort, Obi-Wan swallowed the rise of something both his mind and physical being sought to suppress far more often than should be reasonable. 

He would forget this as he always did, put duty and prudence before all things. He would focus on Anakin's well-being and that alone. He would see to it that the other man recovered through his efforts and that nothing else would hinder that progress, not the touch of Anakin's hand upon side nor the heat of his breath that seemed to scald his skin.

He was first and foremost a Jedi, a mentor to the man beside him. _Nothing more._

___________________

(TBC . . . )


	12. Fever Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan tries to cool Anakin's fever to a manageable level. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY MADE ME, OKAY. (Also, this edit is not flawless. I realize there is some repetition and I will fix it asap.)

_"Anakin? Anakin, can you hear me?"_

Obi-Wan's voice was a hazy murmur near his ear and the feverish Jedi rolled onto his back with a groan. A hand smoothed away the damp strands of his hair with careful, gentle precision and Anakin managed a soft sound of discomfort at the simple gesture.

"Ah, _there_ you are."

A finger trailed his jaw, hand resting on his cheek.

"You had me quite worried."

Anakin groaned, willing his hand to lift but unable to summon the movement from his body. Even cracking an eyelid was near painful effort. Waving a hand to dim the lights via the Force seemed an insurmountable task. How fortunate for Anakin that Obi-Wan managed the latter for him without thought. Drawing upon the Force was an energetic drain at present.

"Obi-Wan . . . " The dry rasp of his own voice irritated him beyond measure.

The hand traveled to his forehead and the stricken Jedi groaned again, turning his head to avoid the touch. 

"Your fever is rising," Obi-Wan said more to himself than to Anakin. "Blast it all, this won't do. Surely there is something I can . . ." His voice trailed into the characteristic stroking of his beard before he continued. "Stay there and behave yourself," he instructed. 

_Behave himself._ Right, because he had absolutely been plotting to leap out of bed and jump out of the nearest window. Although, it wouldn't have been the first time . . .

"Mmmn," Anakin muttered in wordless compliance. 

A brief eternity passed before the other man returned with a small bowl between his hands which he set upon the nightstand near the bed. Stars, was that _food?_ Anakin's stomach twisted in rebellion at the mere thought. 

"Bad idea," he mumbled, flicking his gaze towards the bowl.

"Nonsense," Obi-Wan said. He sat beside Anakin upon the bed and fished a piece of something out of the container.

Cool moisture rubbed the edge of his bottom lip and Anakin's tongue followed the path with a reflexive lick. The tiniest flicker of recognition registered within him, followed by a hint of a groan. _Ice. Not food. Thank the Force for that._

"Here," Obi-Wan said, voice gentling. "Go on, then."

The small cube of ice brushed his mouth and Anakin obediently allowed his former Master to push it past his lips and onto his tongue. The noise that escaped him was one of relief as the coldness of it melted near instantly.

"See?" Obi-Wan reached into the bowl again. "Your old Master still knows a thing or two." 

"Never . . . said you didn't," Anakin said.

"No, you rarely 'say' anything." Obi-Wan flashed him a bit of a smile as he offered him another piece of ice. "But your actions speak quite loudly."

"I didn't mean to," Anakin mumbled, uncertain of just what did, in fact, not mean to do.

Fever and fatigue had clouded his senses, fogging his mind and garbling his thoughts into a haze. How had Obi-Wan gotten him through the Temple doors? He remembered very little, only that the other Jedi had escorted him to bed and obviously disrobed him. 

He struggled into a sitting position, a chill prickled his skin to attention and he rubbed at his arm with an unconscious gesture as the blankets slid from his body.

"Here." The thickness of a heavy, woolen tunic draped his shoulders.

Shrugging it on took far more effort than expected, but Obi-Wan was there to assist in the matter, tugging the fabric over his body with a snug pull.

"And this," Obi-Wan said, passing him yet another neatly folded square of cloth.

Anakin's brow wrinkled. _Force, how many handkerchiefs did the man have?_

"Thanks, but I think I'm--" Anakin's voice trailed into a sudden, sharp inhalation and he barely managed to clamp the handkerchief over his mouth in time to smother a series of shoulder-shuddering sneezes.

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow. "You're _what,_ exactly?"

Blue eyes narrowed over the edges of the cloth. "Shut up."

His former Master chuckled.

"I knew that you were not feeling well before the mission, you realize," Obi-Wan was saying as Anakin wiped at his nose with a sniffle. "You think yourself impervious to all things, including illness." 

"Yeah, well . . ." Anakin passed a hand through his hair, unable to manage a proper retort. "I'll be better in the morning."

"I highly doubt that," Obi-Wan said. "You've got Corellian Fever, Anakin. It simply isn't an overnight endeavor, no matter how strong your Force connection."

Sitting up was becoming more trouble than it was worth and the stubborn Jedi reclined against the nearest pillow just enough to support a bit of his weight. "Corellian Fever, huh. Never heard of it."

"I would expect not," Obi-Wan said. "It isn't native to desert climates and isn't common in adults. Unfortunately, nearly every youngling that ventures onto Coruscant contracts it at some point. You somehow missed it all of these years."

A pillow slid beneath his shoulders, propping him into a more comfortable position and the groggy Jedi sighed.

"Here," Obi-Wan continued, fishing another ice cube out of the bowl. "This will help you to feel better."

Anakin accepted the proffered cube with an obedient parting of lips, half-expecting the thing to sizzle the moment it made contact with his tongue. As Obi-Wan placed the bowl in his lap for better access, the thought that he was capable of feeding himself ice without the aid of Obi-Wan's fingers ventured through his mind, but the way his Master's eyes followed the movement of his lips stopped his obstinate musing. 

"What if you catch this from me?" Anakin said at last.

"I've acquired immunity to it since I had it as a youngling myself." Obi-Wan offered him a smaller cube. "There's no chance of a relapse." The slightest catch of breath halted the other Jedi's words as Anakin took his time accepting the piece of ice, lips lingering upon the tips of Obi-Wan's fingers for a heartbeat longer than they should have. "They . . . wanted to quarantine you, you realize. I assured them it would not be necessary."

"And you made it _your_ job?" Anakin's smirk wavered into a slight wince as Obi-Wan's chilled fingers brushed his jaw.

"Hmph," Obi-Wan huffed as he procured a small towel from the nightstand. " _Someone_ has to look after you."

After bundling several cubes of ice within its confines, he folded the cloth over itself. 

"The healer gave you an injection to aid in your recovery, but you shall feel much better if we can manage to cool the heat of your skin," Obi-Wan said. "And since I am certain that you have no desire for me to carry you into the refresher for a cold bath--"

"No, not really," Anakin grumbled. He flashed the other man a half-hearted smile. "That's not in your job description, anyway."

"Well, it isn't as if you came with instructions," Obi-Wan said. One knuckled finger brushed Anakin's jaw. "But I would like think I've done alright despite such things." 

The corner of the other man's eyes crinkled with such soft fondness that Anakin could not help but smile in return. 

"You . . . have always done a fine job. Master." 

The coldness of the towel was a gentle pressure near his collarbone and Anakin shrugged away the tunic a bit more with a shifting of shoulders. His flesh tingled and prickled as Obi-Wan passed the cloth down his chest and over his ribs, a slow, deliberate motion that wrought a shiver from his body.

"Cold?" The other man's voice dropped just a touch.

"Something like that," Anakin said.

The damp material swept back up his chest and settled upon the back of his neck just beneath his hair. "So sorry."

Anakin's smirk reappeared. "No, you're not."

"Not terribly," Obi-Wan concurred with a crooked grin of his own.

Obi-Wan's thigh brushed his own and Anakin laid his mechanical hand upon the other man's leg. Leaning into Obi-Wan's touch was an effortless, natural thing, part instinctual and part something more. The cloth swept a path over the cap of his shoulder and down his chest and Anakin sighed softly, tension he hadn't realized he held within himself seeping from his body.

"Tired, dear one?" Fingers brushed a sweat-dampened curl from his forehead as Anakin's eyes fluttered open.

"A little." The digits of his mechanical hand traveled up the hem of Obi-Wan's sleep tunic and to the lapel, which had been stitched shut near the center of his chest to keep the garment from requiring a belt. "Obi-Wan?"

"Yes?" The other man's voice was genteel chime of sound.

"You're sure about this immunity thing, right."

"Quite certain," Obi-Wan assured him. "You needn't worry about--"

The hand upon the lapel fisted the material with soft whir of machinery as Anakin tugged his former Master closer to his level.

"That's enough ice."

Obi-Wan's eyes widened to almost comical degree, the towel slipping him grasp and landing with a moist plop upon the floor.

"A-Anakin--" Obi-Wan's voice wavered in pitch. "Now, see here. This fever of yours is--"

"You know it's not my fever." The low tambour of his own voice was made rougher by a combination of congestion and a rather sore throat, lending it an almost perpetual sort of growl.

Anakin closed the distance between them by jerking Obi-Wan closer still, the soft almost feline-like nuzzle of the other man's chin coupled with a rumbling purr of sound.

"Anakin . . . " Obi-Wan's words were a ghost of a whisper against his cheek.

"Master . . ." Anakin murmured.

He slid his viable hand over Obi-Wan's cheek, traced the line of his jaw beneath his beard, craned his neck with a tilt of his chin. The other man was so close, mere increments from him, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, to almost hear the beating of his heart--

The jarring hiss of the buzzer shattered the silence and Anakin ground his teeth, cursing in Huttese under his breath.

"That's probably the medical droid."

Was his Master relieved? Irritated? Obi-Wan's stare betrayed so very little, his voice yielding nothing more than his expression. The hand that curled over the lapel of his tunic dropped and Anakin resisted the urge to huff a sigh, choosing instead to flick his gaze to the nearest wall.

"Probably," he grumbled.

Obi-Wan patted his shoulder with an awkward gesture, pulling back and rising to his feet.

"I'll be right back," he said.

"Yeah," Anakin replied, unable to keep the crossness from his tone.

As Obi-Wan disappeared around the doorjamb, Anakin raked a hand through his disheveled hair and flopped back against the pillows with a groan. What in the galaxy had he been thinking? And more importantly, why was he still considering it?

_______________

(TBC.....)


	13. Anakin, No

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While preparing Anakin's tea, Obi-Wan considers the implications of various things while Anakin takes matters in a different direction.

After receiving instructions from the medical droid on how to brew the herbal mixture he'd be given, Obi-Wan made his way into the kitchen to concoct a mug full of symptom-relieving sludge. One would think that with all of the medical advances on Coruscant that the healers in the Temple would have found a way to make their remedies taste at least somewhat palatable. However, judging from the heavy scent of earth and greenery, the tea would taste about as pleasant as swamp water laced with mud. Not to mention, it took a good ten minutes or more to actually reach the proper potency once mixed.

As the water slowly heated to a boil, Obi-Wan leaned against the counter, stroking the edges of his beard in an unconscious accompaniment to his thoughts.

_You know it's not my fever._

The memory of the low purr of Anakin's words brought a flush to his skin. And it shouldn't have.

Was Master Windu correct? Had Obi-Wan's affections for Anakin turned toward a path that might blind him to all else? True enough, Anakin had been knighted and was technically no longer in need of "Mastering," but Obi-Wan kept a watchful eye on the young man whose abilities seem to multiply and strengthen on a daily basis. Mentoring Anakin had never ceased simply because the ranks had changed. Qui-Gon would not have wanted Obi-Wan to abandon his duty to teach Anakin, even if he no longer required it for the sake of a title.

And unlike most Master/Padawan teams, both he and Anakin still worked as team, taking genuine joy in their missions together as well as the more mundane aspects of everyday living at the Temple. 

Anakin was more than his Padawan. The younger man was his friend, his companion, his-- 

The whistle of the durasteel tea kettle interrupted his thoughts and Obi-Wan set about the task of mixing the ingredients in proper form and quantity. He watched the water change from a pristine state to a sickening greenish brown that frothed near the edges.

_Ugh. How delightful._

More than likely, Anakin would complain, but in the end, he would consume it. Hopefully.

Cradling the mug in his hands, Obi-Wan padded back into Anakin's portion of their sleeping quarters and stopped short.

Empty. The bed was empty.

His gaze shifted to the corners of the room and flicked uneasily to the nearest window. 

_Surely not._

It was the sound of Anakin's harsh, throat-scraping cough that alerted him to the other man's whereabouts.

No, he hadn't fled the confines of his room in favor of chasing a villain in a random air taxi. Thank the Force.

The door to the 'fresher was not quite closed and Obi-Wan knocked gently upon its surface.

"Anakin, are you alright?" Obi-Wan asked after a moment. 

No answer greeted him other than the sound of running water and the Jedi Master's brow knit in concern. Corellian Fever did something have other unpleasant symptoms such as nausea. Hopefully, the younger man wasn't sprawled on the floor beside the shower.

"Anakin?" Obi-Wan tried again.

 _Hmm, not good._ Nudging the door open a bit more, Obi-Wan peered around the edge of the frame. And nearly fumbled the tea down the front of his tunic.

A very naked Anakin stood beside the free-standing durasteel tub, carefully stepping up over the edge of it and lowering himself into the running bath with what looked to be considerable effort, despite the grace of the movement.

Only after he shut off the water did he glance over his shoulder, as if just noticing Obi-Wan's presence.

"I didn't jump out of the window," he said.

Obi-Wan blinked. "What?"

"The window," Anakin repeated. "I didn't jump out of it."

"Oh." Obi-Wan resisted the urge to shake his head. By the Force, he'd seen the younger man naked more times than he could count. Why in blazes was it so different at this moment?

Anakin nodded towards the mug still clutched in Obi-Wan's hands. "Is that for me?"

"This?" Obi-Wan glanced down, as if he had forgotten about it. "Oh. Oh, yes. I suppose you had best drink it before it gets cold. I can't imagine it would taste any worse, of course."

The younger Jedi motioned towards himself with his mechanical hand. "Bring it here, I guess." 

For a moment, Obi-Wan stood rooted to the floor. _Bring what, then? Right. The tea._ Convincing his bare feet to shuffle across the tile seemed to require far more thought capacity than he could manage, but somehow, he found himself crouching next to the free-standing tub, arm extended, mug handle clasped between his fingers.

Anakin took the concoction with a clenching of mechanical fingers, a look of distaste etching his features.

"Does it taste like it looks?"

Obi-Wan shrugged a shoulder. "I would assume so. But the medical droid said it was excellent for all of that sneezing nonsense."

The younger Jedi side-eyed him through a veil of dark lashes. "Do I look like I'm sneezing right now?"

No. Not at all. Quite the contrary. With his moisture-slick skin and brazenly thin veil of water that did not so much as reach mid-chest level, "sick" was not the word Obi-Wan would choose for the other man.

"Remember what happened the last time you said that," Obi-Wan reminded him.

Anakin huffed a sigh. "Yeah, yeah." He dipped a finger into the still-frothy brew before setting it on the small platform beside the edge of the tub. "I'll have to wait a minute. It's still pretty hot." 

He sank a bit lower in the tub, resting his head against the sloped back with a boneless sagging of shoulders, eyes fluttering closed. Tendrils of steam rose from the glassy reflection of the water, morphing the waves of Anakin's hair into a more unruly curl, sweat trickling from his brow and down his neck.

"This isn't going to help your fever, you realize," Obi-Wan said. "It's far too hot."

"I know," Anakin murmured. "But I can't function when I'm that cold. And now, I'm not." 

"Not the best logic," Obi-Wan.

Anakin waved a dismissive hand.

Obi-Wan's gaze traveled the length of Anakin's chest, stopping short of trying to decipher just what might beneath the distortion of the water.

Best to leave. Meditate. Something. _Anything._

"Well." Obi-Wan rose to his feet. "I shall give you your privacy, then."

A damp hand clasped his wrist and Obi-Wan sucked in a breath. He hadn't seen Anakin so much as move, must less reach to grab him.

"Stay," Anakin said.

The younger man's eyes were still closed, but the grip on his hand was firm, forcing Obi-Wan to position himself upon the edge of the tub at an awkward angle. The fingers uncurled, slipping back beneath the surface of the water, a singular lock of hair falling to plaster itself across Anakin's forehead.

The other man's brow wrinkled in annoyance, but he made no move to smooth the damp lock back into place.

"Honestly, Anakin." Obi-Wan gripped the opposite edge of the tub for the sake of stability and leaned in to comb the stubborn lock back into place with his fingers. "I don't know why you insist on growing it out."

Aside from the fact that it suited him. Terribly well, at that. 

The mechanical hand captured his own, holding it against the humid warmth of Anakin's cheek. Blue eyes suddenly regarded him with a scrutiny that was both unreadable and maddeningly intense.

_Oh. Oh dear . . ._

"Anakin--" 

_Not good. Not----!_

Mechanical fingers fisted the lapel of his tunic and Anakin sat up straighter, water dripping from his arm as he all but jerked Obi-Wan against him. 

"Stop. Talking."

Obi-Wan parted his lips with an intent to protest, but the heat of Anakin's mouth shocked him into silence, stealing not only his words, but his breath as well. 

The press of Anakin's lips against his own was no timid endeavor, but rather a request for something more, an invitation of sorts that Obi-Wan could not decline. Sliding a hand into Anakin's damp hair, he leaned into the kiss, the fabric of his sleeve dragging the water.

The hands slid lower, clutching at his waist until--

"Oh, _oh no, no . . . **Anakin, n---!** "_

Water sloshed over the sides of the tub, splashing onto the tile as Anakin pulled Obi-Wan into his lap, clothing and all.

"Anakin, _yes_ ," the younger Jedi rumbled.

Hands slid into Obi-Wan's hair, fisting the ginger locks and the lingering tease of Anakin's lips explored his mouth with a sensual, ardent passion that was somehow fervent and gentle at once.

The barest hint of a moan escaped him as the kiss deepened, the almost hesitant mingling of tongues and lips becoming certain and familiar in mere moments as Obi-Wan's hands ran the length of Anakin's bare arms, allowing the other Jedi to pull him closer. Fingers cupped his face as if it were a sacred, precious thing, the blue of Anakin's eyes meeting his own for the briefest instant and Obi-Wan sucked in a breath as their Force signatures sparked in recognition. Energy caught and tangled as Anakin sought his mouth once more, delving deeper.

Upon the shelves, sundries rattled and towels quivered while cups tipped onto their sides and rolled into the sink. Durasteel cabinet doors trembled, threatening to pop open. The Force surged between them, a pulsing, almost violent clench of energy and Obi-Wan fought to keep his bearings.

 _Stars, if merely kissing Anakin ignited such things, what would it be like to . . ._

Hands gripped his hips, sliding beneath the water-soaked tunic to rove over his bare sides, calloused, warm flesh and contrasting metallic smoothness. The touch ventured in an almost casual amble along the length of his torso, as if forming a mental map of the topography of his body. 

Obi-Wan leaned into Anakin's touch, allowing the exploration for as long as the other man wished, until the gentle pressure of his fingers became a static embrace, the kiss dwindling into the faintest press of lips.

A wayward cup clattered to the floor and Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow at his companion, who simply shrugged.

"Hope you didn't like that tunic too much," Anakin said.

Obi-Wan glanced at the sodden mess that plastered itself to his fair skin and chuckled. "Not particularly." Smoothing away the damp waves that still clung to Anakin's forehead, he trailed his fingers down the curve of his jaw, brushed the pad of his thumb over Anakin's lips. "What am I going to do with you, hmmm?"

Fingers caught and held his own, kissing the tops of his knuckles. "I don't know, Master." Blue eyes fixed him with a coy stare. "I'm sure you'll think of something." 

(TBC . . . SORRY, NOT SORRY!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to put the notes the end from now on, so . . . ! This part turned out to be over 5K (and still going), so I decided to split it up and take my time rather than try to shorten it for the sake of having it "fit" neatly into a chapter.
> 
> Also, I cannot with these two. I just can't.


	14. Well, You DID Say . . .

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin makes himself comfortable in the most literal way possible.

Obi-Wan could think of many somethings. _Hours of somethings. Days of somethings._ And perhaps that was the problem. 

It was the decidedly irritated knitting of Anakin's brow couple with the all-too-familiar hitching of his breath that caused him to the cast the thoughts aside for the moment.

"W-wait . . ." Anakin held up a deflecting hand as he leaned away from Obi-Wan as best as he could manage, half-stifling one sneeze before seeming to conclude that the effort to be polite was simply not worth it for the next two. 

"Oh dear," Obi-Wan said.

"Sorry," Anakin muttered. 

"No need for that." Obi-Wan reached for the now-cool mug upon the ledge and handed it to him. "Drink up."

Eyeing the contents for a moment, Anakin tipped it to his lips and drank with forced vigor, draining the contents in a matter of seconds, his face unflinching and expressionless as he set the now-empty mug back on the ledge.

"Most impressive," Obi-Wan said. 

One side of Anakin's mouth curved into a smirk, but weariness of his posture betrayed the spark in his eyes. Even their brief interlude had been most draining to him. Obi-Wan could feel the nature of it through their bond, could sense just how Anakin struggled to present a facade of normalcy. 

Obi-Wan rested his hands upon Anakin shoulders, closing the distance between them once more to press a gentle, lingering kiss to the other man's mouth.

"I would very much enjoy it if you would come and lie down beside me, dear one," he murmured. 

Knuckles brushed the bristles that edged his jaw and mechanical fingers fisted the hem of his tunic beneath the water. "You'll have to change your tunic first."

Obi-Wan chuckled, the laughter fading into a crooked sort of smile as Anakin took the liberty of making certain he got his wish. The fabric peeled away from his skin as the other man tossed it aside with a splatter upon the tile. The Jedi Master sat back while Anakin's gaze raked him from navel to nose with a slow, heated appreciation.

"Whatever are you staring at?" Obi-Wan asked softly.

Anakin's stare caught and held his own, the blue of his eyes a seemingly darker shade than before somehow. "You."

"Well," Obi-Wan said with a smile. "You've seen me before, haven't you?"

"I have," Anakin concurred, voice dropping. "But not like this." 

The veneration in Anakin's tone was a sincerity that nearly caused heat of a different nature to color Obi-Wan's cheeks.

"Oh, well then. I . . ." 

Anakin's hands cupped the sides of his face. "Quit talking." 

That was quite easy, given the fact that Anakin's lips were suddenly preventing anything other than a muffled noise of surrender. The other Jedi shifted his weight, nearly dumping Obi-Wan onto his back in the tub as Anakin all but pushed him back against the opposite side.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said between the teasing of lips of tongue. "What in the galaxy are you--"

The heavy, pliant weight of his companion settled against his chest as Anakin curled against him, naked and water-warmed upon his skin. The other man nuzzled his chin, tucked his damp head beneath it, and splayed a hand over Obi-Wan's chest with a sigh. 

Obi-Wan's hands hesitated for a moment before slipping beneath the water to rest upon Anakin's bare sides, pulling him closer.

"I'm laying," Anakin mumbled against his chest.

Well, this hadn't quite been what he meant, but Obi-Wan could find no reason to protest. Instead, he pushed Anakin's hair away from his forehead with gentle fingers and planted a chaste kiss in its place. 

"That tea will soon make you groggy," Obi-Wan murmured. "We cannot stay here like this for long."

"Mmmhmm," Anakin rumbled in wordless acknowledgement.

"Anakin, I'm quite serious," Obi-Wan said. "You cannot--"

Mechanical fingers clamped over his mouth, silencing the protest. "Talking . . ." Anakin said.

Obi-Wan huffed a sigh and settled himself against the curve of the tub while Anakin made himself comfortable. Very comfortable. Every inch of the other man's body was somehow twined or connected with him, hand splayed over his chest, leg resting between his own, hip nudging his pelvis. 

The Jedi Master ran an idle hand down the sleek curve of Anakin's side, beneath the surface of the water and back up again to his shoulder. His companion was like some great beast, heavy with muscle and draped in languid sin. The shift of Anakin's body tightened things deep within his core, spiked his own temperature despite the cooling water.

"How are you feeling?" Obi-Wan asked at last, unable to fathom another coherent thought on the matter.

"Tired," Anakin admitted. 

"Come on, then." Obi-Wan rubbed the space between his shoulders with a gentle hand. "You are far too big for me to carry any longer."

Yet despite his size, Anakin still managed to seem small somehow, even with his superior weight stretched half atop Obi-Wan's body, it was as if his energy contracted his being into something almost child-like. 

"Yeah. I know." 

Planting his hands against the durasteel tub, Anakin heaved himself into a sitting position, shoving a hand through his damp hair with a sigh as he motioned for Obi-Wan to extricate himself while he had the chance.

Once he had hauled himself out of the tub, Obi-Wan took a moment to fetch both himself and the other man a fresh towel, offering Anakin a hand which he waved away in a dismissive fashion.

_Of course._

He draped the towel around Anakin's shoulders before tending to draining the tub, straightening to find that his companion had done little more than towel off his hair.

"Aren't you going to take off those pants?"

Obi-Wan blinked before glancing down at himself. "Oh. Oh, yes. I suppose I should."

"Well?" Anakin arched an eyebrow.

"Honestly, Anakin, "Obi-Wan all but rolled his eyes. "One would think that--"

Hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer, capturing his mouth with a brief delving of passion before untangling almost as soon as it began. A tongue flicked over the shell of his ear, eliciting a slight shiver as the heat of Anakin's breath tickled his neck.

"White is transparent when it's wet." 

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to say something, clamped it shut, contemplated opening it again and decided to forgo the talking, choosing instead to match Anakin's former eyebrow raise with one of his own.

The younger Jedi merely shrugged in response, towel falling to the floor as he sauntered out of the 'fresher and back into his sleeping quarters while Obi-Wan did his best not to admire the retreating view. 

 

(TBC....)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uuuugggh, Anakin. I cannot with him. That is all.


	15. Just Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin's fever has an unsettling effect.

"Groggy" was an understatement. Anakin's confident swagger faltered into a stagger as he grappled with the edge of the mattress, barely managing to sprawl atop it. Nudity forgotten, he plunged face first into the nearest pillow, not bothering with so much as a sheet before his consciousness tumbled into the realm of sleep.

And nightmares.

 

_Standing atop a mountain of darkness, he watches as the culvert of crimson sears a path through rock and durasteel, a pulsing river of boiling heat, dissolving all that dares to impede it._

_A flash of light. A plea for a return to a sanity that he cannot remember. A rage that rivals flares of fire and steam._

Who am I?

 _The thought is like ash upon his tongue and he cannot scrape it away or spit it out, but can only swallow as it fills his mouth again and again. Contaminating. Embittering. Coating him from the inside until the soot has become his blood. His life._

I am not this.

 _Heat suffuses him. Fever. Shame. Burning him, consuming him, rending his body to blackened ashes of suffering, reducing him to nothing._

I am nothing. I am no one.

 _The static fills his mind, crumbling away all else save the hollow echo of his breath. He is alone. Trapped within himself._

Inhale. . . 

Exhale. . .

 _Fingers clutch at his shoulders, the sound of another's voice like a resonant chime in an astral prison._

Anakin. Anakin.

_Somewhere within the cloying darkness, a jagged seam of light begins to glisten, growing wider and brighter. He reaches for it with a hand that he does not recognize as his own, stretching gloved fingers towards the beckoning clarity of the slow-spreading brightness._

_It is so close, yet somehow too far to grasp. Faint yet blinding. And he cannot reach it. His fingers curl back into themselves and he is falling farther and farther away._

_He is Chosen. He is the savior. And he cannot save himself._

_A scream stretches his mouth wide but only ash comes pouring out._

 

 

"Anakin? Anakin!"

A blurred sliver of light pierced his vision as the fingers of his viable hand clutched whatever fabric happened to be near and for a moment, his surroundings were a fevered mystery.

Gentle fingers brushed away his damp hair as his eyes struggled to focus on the familiar face. _Obi-Wan._ Yes, he remembered . . .

"Ah, _there_ you are." Obi-Wan's voice was fraught with such obvious relief, that Anakin could only blink. "Really, you must stop doing this to me. I sometimes fear that I will be unable to wake you."

The words were light, almost teasing, but a hint of genuine fear lingered there.

"I'm . . . I'm sorry," Anakin said, his own voice a rough husk of its usual depth.

"Don't be absurd. There is nothing to apologize for." 

Obi-Wan's hand carded through his hair, a gentle, soothing stroke of fingers as he flicked a still unfocused gaze to the window where Coruscant's suns had begun to set. Orange streaked with ribbons of pink had begun to blanket the sky, obscuring the blue-grey into something fiery. Almost sinister.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Anakin turned his head to the flatness of the white wall opposite of the window, a quiver of a sigh escaping him.

The fingers resumed their slow threading through his hair. "Was it a nightmare, then?"

 _Or a vision._

Anakin kept his eyes closed, willing his breath into slow compliance. "Yeah." 

"Fever can do that, unfortunately." Obi-Wan's finger's worked through a small snarl before continuing their path. "Even the most mundane of dreams can somehow become frightening."

Anakin struggled into a sitting position, clutching at Obi-Wan's sleeves and burying his face in the other man's shoulder. Within his sudden, fierce embrace, Obi-Wan stiffened in surprise but for a moment before instinctively returning the gesture, gathering Anakin into his arms as if he were a youngling. 

The other Jedi did not speak. Instead, he rubbed a hand between Anakin's bare shoulders, slow, soothing circles of motion that should have brought comfort, but wrought a shiver from his body.

 _First, there had been his mother. And now . . ._

Fabric bunched between his fingers as he ordered his breathing to mimic normality, forced back the hotness that threatened to spill over his cheeks into remission. He was too old for this, too smart for this.

 _Too afraid for this._

"It's alright now," Obi-Wan murmured near his ear. "It's just the fever. You're safe here. With me." 

_Was he?_

Obi-Wan tugged a blanket over his shoulders, tucked the material over his naked body as if it were a cloak and it took Anakin a moment to realize why. Violent trembling wracked his limbs, so much so that even the fingers of his mechanical hand quivered as if in malfunction.

The hand that rubbed his back slid to his shoulder and squeezed. "Perhaps I should fetch you some clothing if you are this cold, hmm?"

Anakin shook his head. "Not cold," he managed to mumble.

"No?" Obi-Wan's voice was puzzled.

The edges of their bond seemed to flex and yield as Obi-Wan initiated a gentle prodding via the Force to ascertain what Anakin could not yet seem to vocalize and perhaps against his better judgment, the younger Jedi allowed it.  


The softest hint of a gasp escaped his Master's lips, his grip upon Anakin's shoulder tightening.

"Oh," he murmured. "Oh, Anakin . . ."

"Don't . . ." Anakin's tone was infused with a dark warning that fell as flat as it sounded to his own ears.

"Whatever it is, you needn't feel ashamed," Obi-Wan said. "I can feel your suffering."

"It's fine," Anakin mumbled.

This time, the sigh was one of all-too-familiar exasperation. "Anakin," Obi-Wan began. "Are you really going to--"

"Would you just _stay?_ " Anakin interrupted, more of a demand that his Master be silent more than a request for it. "I mean, stay _here._ Like this."

 _With me._

Obi-Wan's tone softened. "Of course, dear one. I am here for you. Always." 

A shudder traversed Anakin's shoulder, translating through his breathing despite his best efforts to conceal it. 

"Master," Anakin began, hating the slight fracture within the word, the way his voice wavered just enough to betray him.

But Obi-Wan said nothing of it. Instead, he coaxed Anakin into lying beside him, draping blankets around them to capture the warmth of their bodies. 

"There, now." Obi-Wan's hand carded through the damp curls at the nape of his neck, twisting them between his fingers. "That's better, isn't it?"

Anakin nodded with a sniffle, mechanical fingers still clutching the fabric of Obi-Wan's sleep tunic, his face still pressed into the other man's shoulder. 

_Inhale . . . exhale . . ._

The smell of clean, crisp linen coupled with the warm, almost earthy spice of Obi-Wan's natural scent was a comforting lull and Anakin sighed, his grip loosening as he curled himself into the other man's embrace, a barrier which no unsettling dream could penetrate. 

(TBC........)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did NOT expect this AT ALL. I'm quite proud of how it turned out, though. Anakin always has better ideas than I do. ;)


	16. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin awakens irritatingly symptomatic and with a bit of an appetite for something other than food.

Hours passed. By the time Anakin had wrestled himself into a conscious state, the shadows upon the wall had grown long and wide, draping the starkness of the paint in darkness. 

Anakin stretched one leg beneath the sheets and blinked. Stars, had he slept the entire afternoon away? His toe nudged a foot that was not his own and a sigh of contentment escaped him.

Obi-Wan was still there, nestled beside him, one arm entangled in his own, hand splayed over his bare back. Anakin edged closer, nuzzling the other man's bearded chin and tucking his head beneath it. 

"Hello there," his former Master murmured.

"You're still here," Anakin said.

The hand rubbed the space between his shoulders. "Of course I am." 

Anakin tightened his grip over Obi-Wan's body with a receptive squeeze of affection. "I'm . . . I'm glad." 

Fingers brushed at the fine sheen of sweat that coated his brow, tucking away a curl that had managed to plaster itself to his temple. Before the hand could retract, Anakin caught it within his own, bringing it to his lips to press a lingering kiss to each calloused fingertip.

"Feeling a bit better?" Obi-Wan asked.

"I can't tell," Anakin mumbled, dropping Obi-Wan's hand to sniffle against the back of his wrist.

Well, if the prickle in his sinuses were any indication, things hadn't really improved all that much. He shifted away from the other man with a sharp catch of breath and muffled a series of half-stifled sneezes into the crook of his elbow. _Force be damned._

"Oh dear," Obi-Wan mused. "Perhaps I should make you another round of tea."

Anakin swiped a hand beneath his nose with a sniffle. "I'd rather suffer." 

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Obi-Wan chided him. "It isn't all that bad." He rolled onto his back to stroke the edges of his beard in a thoughtful manner before revising his statement. "Alright, so it's quite terrible, but at least it relieves your symptoms."

"And puts you out for half a day," Anakin added. "I'll deal with the symptoms."

"You might change your mind," Obi-Wan said.

The rumbling of Anakin's stomach interrupted his would-be counter argument and Obi-Wan chuckled.

"Sorry," Anakin said, as if it could somehow be helped.

"Well, it isn't as if you've eaten recently." Obi-Wan propped himself up on one elbow, his slightly disheveled hair flopping to half-cover one eye. "Shall I make you something?" 

Anakin slid the back of his hand along the curve of Obi-Wan's jaw. Regardless of what his stomach might attest to, his appetite was another matter entirely. The desire for food was a faint, if not unpleasant thought. Still, he managed a smile at the ever vigilant thoughtfulness of his former Master and found that he couldn't truly say "no." Not with Obi-Wan looking at him like that, the familiar, gentle fondness that crinkled the corners of his eyes holding a different context somehow, a particular spark to his gaze that Anakin could not recall seeing before.

"Okay," he said at last. "Just . . . none of that oatgrass porridge stuff. I don't think I can even look at it right now."

The corner of Obi-Wan's mouth pulled into a smile. "Yes, I agree it's quite awful, even if you are not unwell. Oddly enough, it was Qui-Gon's favorite. He ate it nearly every day, if he could."

Anakin made a face. "It looks like a pile of bantha fodder." 

"Indeed," Obi-Wan agreed. He leaned closer to press a gentle kiss to Anakin's lips. "I am certain that I can find something light enough for you to tolerate. I haven't forgotten how Corellian Fever makes one feel." 

"Thank you, Master," Anakin said.

"You needn't call me that any longer, you realize," Obi-Wan said. "Regardless of title, I do consider you my equal."

Anakin shrugged a shoulder. "That's not why I say it." He brushed the errant lock of hair from Obi-Wan's eye, smirking when it promptly fell back into place. "And I think you might like it, anyway."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Perhaps I do." He caught Anakin's mechanical hand within his own and kissed the top of the metallic fixture. "I shall return shortly." 

Although Anakin had no feeling in the artificial limb, the gesture warmed him in other ways. For many years, he had kept the hand hidden within the confines of his glove, not because he found the replacement unsightly, but rather because of what it signified. Failure. A loss of control. Impulsiveness. All of the things his Master (and others) had tried to tame, reshape, and reorder. It had shamed him. Stoked his anger. 

Until recent events had shifted that perception. 

He flexed his mechanical fingers, admiring the dexterous swiftness there, the perfection of the articulation that flesh could not manage. With the bionic hand, he had become stronger, faster, more precise. Ever the living weapon draped in robes of peace. 

"Anakin."

He raised his gaze to the doorway with an arch of one eyebrow.

"We haven't a thing that I believe you could easily manage at this point. If I venture into the main dining hall for a moment, do you promise to remain here and behave yourself?"

A smirk curved one side of his mouth. "Yes, Master."

Obi-Wan approached the bed, his stare traveling the length of Anakin's naked chest down to where the sheets draped low and tenuously upon his hips. "And as much as I admire your rather striking physique, I would very much appreciate it if you would put these on." 

He tossed a neatly folded pair of dark blue sleep pants and a matching tunic onto the bed beside Anakin's leg.

The eyebrow arched higher. "You sure about that?"

Obi-Wan's smile took on a decidedly wicked edge as he trailed a finger down Anakin's jaw. "Not entirely."

The pad of a thumb rubbed his bottom lip and Anakin fisted a handful of Obi-Wan's tunic, jerking him down into a searching kiss, which the Jedi Master returned with a surprising degree of passion. 

"Stay," Anakin rumbled near his ear.

"If I do, I fear I shall never leave." Obi-Wan's voice was a dark, almost breathless rendition of its usual silk, a sound which spiked a different, fevered warmth somewhere deep within Anakin's core.

Lips and tongue caught and tangled for a brief, heated instant and the now-empty glass upon the nightstand rattled before toppling onto its side. Obi-Wan waved a hand to halt the glass from tumbling to the floor and shattering upon the tile.

"You must stop doing that," Obi-Wan said with a chuckle.

Anakin nipped at his ear. "Who says it's all _my_ fault." 

Craning his neck, he captured Obi-Wan's mouth in a series of teasing kisses until he felt the pull of the other man's energy decline. Despite his ardent advances, his Master was still uncertain, still weighing the consequences of his Jedi training against his urges. Reaching through their bond to ascertain such things was unnecessary. It was almost painfully obvious. 

Holding back a sigh of frustration, he allowed Obi-Wan his reluctant withdrawal, stilled himself as the other man's warmth receded from his touch. Patience had never been his forte, but in this instance, he was willing to concede to it.

"Anakin . . ." Obi-Wan began. "I'm--"

"No," Anakin interrupted. His tone gentled as he smoothed a hand over Obi-Wan's rumpled lapel, fingers lingering atop his chest for a moment. "It's fine." He offered the other man a smile, which Obi-Wan returned with a hesitant, but matching expression.

"Alright," Obi-Wan said at last. He traced the cap of Anakin's bare shoulder with a light touch before straightening. "I will not be long."

"Okay," Anakin said.

" _Clothes,_ Anakin," Obi-Wan said, pointing sternly at the folded garments atop the blankets.

"Yeah, yeah." Reclining against the pillows, Anakin waved a dismissive hand.

He did not miss the way Obi-Wan's gaze swept him from navel to nose one last time, as if taking a mental photograph, nor did it escape his notice just how slow his former Master was to walk away, pausing near the threshold of the door, as if forbidding himself from glancing over his shoulder.

_TBC . . . ._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little bit of a transition to something else, but of course, _Kenobi_ had to be the difficult one this time. BOYS, PLZ.


	17. A Single Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin busies himself with a bit of unexpected browsing.

While Anakin hadn't the inclination to leap out of the nearest window, staying confined to the bed was no longer an appealing option. The restless Jedi had never quite mastered the art of settling in one place for long periods of time regardless of reasons. He did, however, don the clothing Obi-Wan had left for him, more so out of the need for warmth rather than actual concern for covering his naked body. The blue dye was as close to black as the color could manage, revealed to be otherwise only in the brightest of light. Black was frowned upon the by the Order, and while not forbidden, it was associated with a rather negative facet of the Force. Anakin had never understood such things. It was only a color, after all.

After pulling on the soft pants, he shrugged the tunic over his shoulders, not bothering with the inner tie meant to keep the garment closed and ambled into the common area, barefoot and ruffled from far too much time spent beneath the sheets. 

As usual, the inner sanctum of their shared quarters was immaculate, every surface polished to perfection, every possession situated at the proper angle so that it was neither obtrusive nor inaccessible. Even the books were arranged in a particular order, holobooks on the lower level, variations of the more solid forms arranged by size and color. 

Anakin smirked as he ran a finger over the spines. Obi-Wan busied himself with the oddest things, pointless to Anakin, but soothing to the other Jedi. Either that, or he enjoyed punishing himself for disorder by constantly rearranging it. 

The edge of particularly thick book caught his eye, the leather binding worn and well-loved from repeated opening, color faded from obvious years of use. Funny, he could not recall seeing it before. Where had it come from? No title graced the spine and Anakin's brow wrinkled as he worked the book free of its space to better examine it.

Setting the book upon the edge of the nearby desk, he lifted the edge of the cover away with careful, gentle fingers. Scrawls of hand-written notes inked the page in barely legible contours complete with hand-drawn pictures of various plant life. 

Anakin studied the handwriting with a tilt of his head, taking the time to run a finger over the page. While the writing was difficult to read, the drawings were done in exquisite detail, the sweeping lines of petals and leaves captured by an artistic eye for detail. Every fine vein or filament in place, various angles represented in striking realism. 

Obi-Wan was not exactly known for his fondness of plant life, due to the somewhat hilarious nature of his involuntary reaction to just about anything that bloomed. Why in the galaxy would he have a book such as this?

He paged through the book with care, admiring both the artwork and the thoroughness of the notes which dictated not only the function of each plant, but the planet of origin as well. It wasn't until he rested a hand upon a particularly descriptive passage that he sensed it, heard the soft, noble tone ring with clarity within his mind.

_Anakin._

He stiffened, glancing over his shoulder with a slow turn of his head. When no ghostly visage greeted his eyes, he stood still for a moment, listening. It was a voice he had heard before, one he often tuned into for guidance. One that Obi-Wan had thus far been unsuccessful in hearing himself.

_Qui-Gon._

"Master," he murmured aloud. 

The brush of an unseen hand swept his shoulder, tickled the hairs at the nape of his neck. Heartwood and earthen spice wafted past him, the pages of the heavy book rustling.

He glanced back to the handwriting, spread a hand over the dull ink.

 

_"A most interesting specimen. Perhaps I should harvest some for further examination."_

_An almost exasperated sigh. "Master, we haven't any more room for your horticultural studies. And need I remind you that your last specimen turned out to be carnivorous."_

_A crooked smile. A knowing twinkle in the depths of dark blue eyes. "And amorous, too."_

_A groan. "Do not remind me."_

 

Anakin withdrew his hand with a curl of fingers. Jedi sometimes had visions of the future, but rarely attuned themselves to past events. Anakin, however, was no ordinary Jedi.

_It is yours, then,_ Anakin thought.

The scent of heartwood grew. _It is. But not entirely._

Turning the book over on a whim, Anakin flipped to the last entry. No drawing graced the paper, but rather the flower itself had been pressed between the pages with care, a single, carefully printed word the only writing upon the page.

_Pukaneekee._

Different handwriting, legible perfection that he recognized all too well. His fingers grazed the edges of the dried petals, the memory of his own childlike laughter a faint echo of a memory ringing within his mind.

Anakin closed the book with a slow, reverent gesture, taking care to replace it exactly as it had been upon the shelf.

For so many years, the younger Jedi had considered himself not chosen by his Master, but rather an honored request from a dying man by one too noble to refuse it. Even as the years had passed and the Master/Padawan bond had begun to flourish, the depth of their communication skills had seen little improvement with Anakin speaking far too much and his Master saying very little. 

The balance had shifted as Anakin grew older, the young Knight learning all too quickly that his words were not only unappreciated, but unwelcome by many. Regardless of his position on the Council or his alleged prophetic status, his outspoken nature was not the Jedi way. The bright-eyed, giving child he had once been had become shrouded in the shadow of an adulthood that was sometimes unwieldy. 

_Clouded, this boy's future is . . ._

Maybe, but a particular facet of his past had suddenly come into sharp, almost startling clarity. 

 

(TBC . . . .)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVED writing this chapter and I was so excited about it, I decided to post it with a rather hasty edit, so please excuse any mistakes! I'll fix them when I can stop being a giddy idiot. I never could have predicted how this thing is turning out, for real.


	18. There is a Wildness in Him - 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _(I am splitting this chapter into pieces because of reasons.)_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Obi-Wan returns to a curious reception from Anakin.

He had intended to return with bread and broth, but somehow, the plan had grown to include a myriad of fruits, vegetables, and a few types of sweet treats. Just in case. One could never be sure just how one's appetite would react to Corellian Fever. Obi-Wan himself remembered eating nothing but starberries and honey-infused wheat patties for the better part of a week.

And whatever Anakin wanted, Obi-Wan would gladly procure it for him. As long as the other man ate something and kept it down. 

Using the Force to slide the door open, he carted his bag of various foods into their living space and nearly walked right past Anakin before catching sight of him beside the bookcase. 

"By the Force, Anakin. You startled the life out of me," Obi-Wan said, a hand upon his chest. "Whatever are you doing out of bed, hmm?" 

The younger man did not speak, but rather regarded Obi-Wan with an assessing sort of tilt to his head, as if he were privy to more than his physical being. Many a planetary leader or villain had sought to unnerve Obi-Wan with a similar look, but the Jedi Master was not easily intimidated. Quite the contrary. Such things were amusing rather than unnerving.

Anakin, however, was an entirely different matter. Something about his stare had proven to be most jarring at times, as if he were seeing not only the physical, but the carefully hidden innermost workings of one's subconscious mind. Anakin's connection with the Living Force lent him insight that few others possessed. Only Qui-Gon Jinn and Master Yoda had comparable abilities, and even then, Anakin's level of unity with the Force seemed to surpass even the greatest Master, when he chose to use it. 

Like now. 

How in the galaxy could one man manage to be so very young and uncertain and within the very same afternoon, look as if the wisdom of the entire universe resided in his eyes?

"Anakin . . ." Obi-Wan's voice was soft, if not a bit uneasy.

The other man's gaze slid to the bag of food cradled in his arm and Obi-Wan let out a slow breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

"I hadn't any idea what you might want," Obi-Wan continued. 

Anakin blinked as if awakening from a trance and flicked his stare back to Obi-Wan's face. While the studious intelligence remained, the eyes that looked back at him were once again familiar, the clarity of the blue marred by pink-rimmed irritation and the shadow of darkness beneath it.

"I'm fine with anything," he said at last. 

"Well." Obi-Wan shifted the bag to his other arm as he walked towards the kitchen area. "That tells me very little, you realize." 

Setting the bag upon the counter, he turned to instruct Anakin to at least sit down, but the younger man was no longer standing near the bookcase. 

Because he was directly behind Obi-Wan, a mere span of a hand from his person.

With his superior height and broad shoulders, Anakin presented an imposing figure, whether he meant to or not. The very presence of this man seemed to saturate the entire room, as if somehow occupying ever inch space with his formidable energy.

Obi-Wan's breath caught, his back meeting the counter as Anakin planted a hand on either side of his body, trapping him there. Nothing about Anakin was ever truly calm, the wildness within him always tenuously present, despite his best efforts to contain it. Which he was most certainly not attempting now.

Even with a thin sliver of distance separating them, the fevered heat of Anakin's body was radiant against the coolness of Obi-Wan's skin.

"Is that lunar melon?" 

Obi-Wan blinked. "W-what?"

His companion held the small fruit with the lavender and white rind aloft. "This is lunar melon, isn't it?"

Obi-Wan hadn't the faintest idea, but he nodded in slow agreement just the same. He licked suddenly dry lips before speaking. 

"Would you . . . like me to prepare it for you?" he asked after a moment's pause.

Anakin handed him the fruit with one hand. "Okay." 

He watched as the other man turned and sauntered away, returning to the couch where he draped himself with a languid sort of collapse upon the cushions. A dry, tried-sounding cough followed, and despite just how pathetic Anakin might sound, at least this particular symptom hadn't settled into his chest.

Which Obi-Wan had done his best not to admire with Anakin's taller stature seeming to eclipse him. 

_By the Force . . ._

He took a moment to steady his breath with a slow inhalation, willing his hands to unclench and relax so that he could properly prepare the fruit without adding pieces of his own fingers to the mix. Grabbing a knife from the nearest drawer, he set about the task of cutting the melon apart, peeling the rind away and leaving only the pale, cream-colored flesh of the fruit upon the plate. He added a handful of small oat squares to the edge of the dish before fixing a glass of ice water to accompany it. 

In the short amount of time it had taken him to peel the fruit and arrange it on a plate, Anakin had already fallen into a light slumber, his body half-sprawled upon the couch, tunic gaping open.

Setting the plate aside, Obi-Wan knelt beside him, a hand resting upon his shoulder.

"Anakin, I do hate to wake you, but you really must eat something."

"Hmmn?" Anakin's drowsy, wordless rumble was a dark vibration beneath his fingers.

Obi-Wan combed Anakin's hair away from his forehead with gentle fingers. "I need you to eat something, dear one."

Blue eyes fluttered open, watery and unfocused at first, a hand lifting to clasp his own with a weak squeeze of palms. "Okay." 

Apparently, the act of walking from the bed and standing by the bookshelf for a time had drained the other Jedi to the point of exhaustion. Not entirely uncommon with Corellian Fever. Obi-Wan remembered all too well just how quickly he had gone from feeling somewhat decent to absolutely terrible in the span of mere minutes. 

"No, no," Obi-Wan said as Anakin began to heave himself into a sitting position. "Be still. I shall come to you."

He eased himself between the end of the couch and Anakin's body, allowing the other man to curl up beside him. Once Anakin had affected a half-lean against body, he reached for the plate of fruit and selected one of the smaller pieces, offering not to Anakin's hand, but directly to his lips. Anakin was obedient in his accommodation, taking the fruit into his mouth and chewing with slow deliberation.

"How is it, then?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Good," Anakin said as Obi-Wan offered him another bite.

"I am just happy to see you eat," Obi-Wan said.

The other Jedi managed nearly half the fruit and a few oat squares before he could stomach no more and while it wasn't much, at least he had consumed something. Obi-Wan was satisfied enough with that.

(TBC . . .)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This damn chapter is over 3K already and I want to keep going, so I'm breaking it up into parts over the next few days. I hope you enjoy it! ;)


	19. There is a Wildness in Him - 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think he might have "heard" you, Obi-Wan.

"We really should get you back to bed," Obi-Wan mused as he set the plate back upon the end table.

"I'm tired of being in there," Anakin said as he curled himself a bit tighter against Obi-Wan's body.

The Jedi Master did not miss the slight tremble of his body, nor the quiet sniffling that accompanied it. And there was truly no use in arguing with Anakin. Really, there was no reason the other man could not rest just as well on the couch as he could within the confines of the bed sheets, although Obi-Wan felt certain the former was infinitely more comfortable. But he understood the nature of frustration that came from being stuck in one room for days on end. While this particular part of their living space wasn't exactly much better, at least the balcony could be seen from this area, the half-jungle that had been Qui-Gon's plant collection visible from the glass doors that led to the balcony outside. 

"Alright," Obi-Wan said at last. "At least allow me to fetch you a blanket."

Anakin nodded against his shoulder and Obi-Wan extricated himself with care, leaving Anakin's weight supported against the side of the couch while he set about the task of finding something with a bit of substance to it. It was easier to snatch the thick duvet from his own bed rather than hunt for something better and he returned to the couch to drape the thickness of it over Anakin's body, tucking the edges around him.

He ventured back towards the bookshelf and chose a holobook for himself, his gaze flicking to the potted plant that resided near the edge of one of the shelves. The hearty green vinework had just begun to climb its post, a sign that seasons were changing. Some of Qui-Gon's plants did not care for the outside atmosphere of Coruscant, and Obi-Wan had done his best to relocate them to the greenhouse within the Temple. But this one was different. This one, he had kept for inside for himself. On a whim, he plucked it from its place upon the shelf and carted it to the end table where he set it beside the arm of the couch.

He then settled himself beside Anakin, inviting the other man closer with thought alone and smiling when the younger Jedi edged his body as close as he could manage without climbing into Obi-Wan's lap. 

But the shared comfort did not last. 

A soft noise of annoyance escaped Anakin as he pulled away from Obi-Wan just enough to clap a hand over his mouth, stifling several sneezes into little more than a sharp clench of sound.

"Anakin," Obi-Wan all but groaned. " _Stop_ doing that." He tweaked a curl near the base of the other man's neck for emphasis before reaching into the inner pocket of his tunic to press a fresh handkerchief into Anakin's mechanical hand.

"Thank you," Anakin mumbled, clutching the fabric between his fingers. "It's . . . just a habit." 

"Well, I suggest you unlearn it," Obi-Wan instructed. "You shall only make things worse for yourself."

"I kn---" A hitching breath. A shudder of shoulders. The younger Jedi buried his nose in the folds of the handkerchief, ducking half of his face beneath the blanket as well to muffle another violent set of sneezes. "Hnngh, by the Force." 

Obi-Wan winced in sympathy. That particular symptom had not been the worst one for him by far, but it seemed to plague Anakin to an exhausting end. 

He slipped a hand between Anakin's shoulders, rubbing gentle circles upon his back. "Are you certain that I cannot convince you to have a bit more of that tea?" 

"No." Anakin rubbed at one eye, very much the tired child in spite of his age and stature. "I can't stand having my senses muddled like that. I'll deal with it." 

He flinched into another sneeze, the sound trailing into a soft groan.

"Oh, Anakin . . ." Obi-Wan sighed as the younger man resettled himself. He draped an arm around Anakin's shoulders, pulling him closer, chin resting atop his head. "At least allow me to make you _some_ sort of tea. I feel certain that I am skilled enough to manipulate the ingredients so that you are not quite so drowsy." 

"Hnnh, okay." Anakin sniffled, sounding very much as if the simple act were a tremendous effort. "But you don't have to do that." 

"I know I do not _have_ to," Obi-Wan said. He planted a chaste kiss atop Anakin's head. "I _want_ to."

The other Jedi nuzzled his chin, kissed the side of his neck. "Thank you, _pukaneekee_." 

Obi-Wan traced the edge of the scar that fell just below Anakin's eye with a gentle rub of his thumb. "Of course, my dear one."

The blue of Anakin's eyes was suddenly almost unnatural in its clarity, stark and clear as the Temple pools and oddly just as still. Calm. As if the wildness of him was somehow at peace, tamed just for the moment.

"What . . .is it?" Suspicion hooded his gaze and Obi-Wan smiled with far more fondness than necessary.

"Forgive me. I do not mean to stare," Obi-Wan said. 

_But you have grown to be so striking, I cannot help myself._

Clearing his throat as if it might somehow clear his mind as well, Obi-Wan moved to untangle himself from Anakin's body, but the other man was suddenly half in his lap, pinning him to the arm of the couch with his superior weight.

His heart tripped an erratic rhythm within the confines of his chest, as if were a caged thing as nearly 200 pounds of amorous, determined Jedi all but climbed atop him.

"N-now, Anakin. You mustn't--"

The kiss that silenced him was nothing short of mind-meltingly sublime, his protests dwindling into little more than a receptive sort of murmur. Hands slid beneath the open tunic, roaming over Anakin's sides and down to the lean musculature of his hips. 

Against his better judgment, he gripped his body through the thin sleep pants and pulled Anakin closer.

The fingers of Anakin's viable hand trailed reverent fire down his chest, gentle and provocative, a matching smattering of kisses feathering his neck.

 _Tell him to stop,_ Obi-Wan commanded himself. _Order him to do so._

But the words would not rise to his lips, catching in his throat as Anakin nipped the side of his jaw, rolling his hips against Obi-Wan's own with a blatant grind of pressure that showcased his intentions all too well. 

Much to Obi-Wan's annoyance, his own body saw fit to respond in turn, coming to obvious attention beneath the fabric of his pants. The fingers that brushed his stomach came to rest just shy of the waistband of his pants, toying with the knot that secured them just enough to loosen it, but not yet pull it apart.

 _"Master . . ._ " Anakin purred, the hotness of his breath tickling Obi-Wan's ear. 

The depth of the word was increased three-fold by a combination of Anakin's illness as well as his most obvious desire and Obi-Wan could have sworn the chime of it rang throughout his entire being. 

He ordered his hand to cease its travels, considered grabbing it with his free hand and tugging it away, as if it were no longer an extension of himself, but a thing that required separate and thorough discipline. Instead, his fingers crept steadily onward, bypassing Anakin's hip, edging towards his inner thigh.

"Anakin . . ." Obi-Wan's voice seemed far away somehow, as if it, too, were no longer a part of him.

There would be no going back from this, no way to undo what had been set into motion. Things between them would forever change, a new threshold crossed.

_Could he does this? To Anakin? To himself?_

The other Jedi arched against him, lips grazing the shell of his ear. "Touch me." A gentle nuzzle. A shiver of breath. _"Please."_

_(TBC . . . . !!!!!)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that I am, in fact, a horrible person and I AM NOT SORRY.


	20. The Living Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin reveals his mastery of the Force in an intimate way. ~~(But do I REALLY have to tell you what's about to happen here?)~~

The plaintive, almost desperate note in Anakin's voice sent a ripple of heat down his spine and into his core.

_Please._

How was it that a single word spoken in such a manner could seemingly be his undoing?

His fingers toyed with the edges of Anakin's waistband with a hesitant tug, but it was the strain of Anakin's body against his own that drove him past the edge of reason. The hand slipped beyond the barrier of the fabric, delving deeper until his fingers met with the hot rigidity of Anakin's flesh. A mirroring gesture mimicked his own, Anakin's viable hand curling around him with cinch of a fist and suddenly, the room seemed to shift.

The Force surged between them, a hot, jarring pulse of energy that wove itself between all metaphysical space, drawing their energetic signatures together with almost violent twining of auras. Anakin sought his lips, arching into his touch and claiming his mouth with a searching kiss and the energetic field of the Force seemed to expand.

He couldn't disrobe fast enough, couldn't tear the clothing from Anakin's body with any sort of finesse, had his life depended on it. Tunics and sleep pants were tossed at odd angles while Anakin's hands were everywhere and nowhere at once, until Obi-Wan could no longer tell his own touch apart from that of his companion.

Obi-Wan ordered himself to slow down, to take his time with the exploration of Anakin's body, to caress every inch of him to fevered arousal, but Anakin's sudden need for him was all-consuming, casting aside any hope of a gentle, reverent prelude. 

Mechanical and organic fingers clutched at his shoulders, reversing their positions and urging Obi-Wan atop his body, jerking him down for heated kisses interspersed with a nip of teeth or the sharp drag of short nails. 

_"Have me,"_ Anakin growled near his ear. 

"What if . . . I hurt you . . ." Obi-Wan all but panted.

The trail of a tongue along his neck. A sound bite where the shoulder met it. "You won't." 

Obi-Wan hesitated but for a moment, steadying himself with one hand upon the arm of the couch, using the other to guide himself to where Anakin so desperately sought his attention. Despite the other man's assurance, Obi-Wan took his time, a slow push of hips, a gentle entry . . .

. . . until Anakin decided for him that he would have none of it.

The hands that gripped his shoulders dropped to seize his hips, Anakin's lithe frame arching from the couch, all but shoving Obi-Wan inside of him, inch by torturous inch, until the tightness of Anakin's body cinched him into a vise of heat. But it was not the feel of Anakin's body enveloping him, nor the way he sank himself to the hilt within the other man that furthered his undoing. No, that would be the sound that ebbed from Anakin's lips, the lilting groan of pure, unadulterated pleasure that seemed to harvest itself from deep within his chest, a ringing vibration that Obi-Wan felt as well as heard. 

Upon the end table, the plate rattled.

A shiver of power marched down his spine, a subtle tingle that crescendoed into a blaze of static as Anakin reached out to him through the Force, into a part of him where Obi-Wan himself rarely ventured. A hesitant flicker of response wavered within him, uncertain of the proper way to receive such a thing.

_Do you trust me?_

Anakin's voice resounded within his head, as if it were a myriad of dark whispers, an infinite echo that reverberated not just within his mind, but elsewhere. Deeper. More intimately than any spoken words could manage.

He fixed his gaze upon the blue of Anakin's own, a shuddering inhalation passing through him.

_Yes._

The back of a hand brushed his cheek, a simple, tender gesture, before the metaphysical shift rushed to consume him. Energetic radiance bloomed within him as their Force signatures twined and fused, melding into each other until Anakin's pleasure became his own, the panting hitch of his breath a counterpart to tripping rhythm of Anakin's heartbeat, the tactile heat of skin against skin an inseparable mingling of flesh, the ebb and flow of the Force within them building a tightly wound burn deep within them.

Obi-Wan's hand slid to grip Anakin's hardness, fingers curling around him with a subtle squeeze of pressure and the Force seemed to contract inward upon itself. For a breath of an instant, time ceased.

Holobooks rattled and furniture trembled, the stack of maps and scrolls Obi-Wan had pilfered from the library sliding from the table and onto the floor. Pleasure seized his every cell, wringing him dry and rejuvenating him in an single instant as Anakin arched into the undulation of his hips, short nails leaving crescents of need in Obi-Wan's shoulder, the short, panting breaths bleeding into a groaning outcry. 

But it was Obi-Wan's own voice shocked him most of all, the plaintive, almost raw cry that seemed far too primal to belong to one so reserved. Just as the edges of his consciousness began to blacken, the roiling heat within him receded and he collapsed atop Anakin's bare chest in a panting heap.

A hand drifted to splay across his lower back accompanied by a purring nuzzle along the edge of his jaw, like a great beast that had somehow been soothed into gentility. 

Something tickled his ear and Obi-Wan cracked an eyelid, flicked his gaze towards the arm of the couch. The meager vine that had just begun sprout was now a plethora of lush, thick tendrils that half-covered the table, each fibrous stalk sprinkled with a smattering of bright purple flowers, more of which continued to slowly unfurl as if the plant were somehow awakening from a trance.

"Oh my . . ." Obi-Wan murmured.

"Hmmm?" Anakin tipped his head back to stare at the plant, reaching a hand towards the greenery.

A lithe stalk curled itself around his wrist, winding its way up his hand and around the tip of his finger and Anakin smiled, the expression free and somehow child-like with delight. 

"I think she likes me," Anakin said.

 _"She?"_ Obi-Wan repeated with a tilt of his head.

"Yeah." Anakin wiggled his finger and the vinework retreated back onto the table with an obedient rustle of leaves.

Obi-Wan blinked. Only one other Jedi had such mastery over both plant and animal life in that way and it had taken decades of practice and study. But not for Anakin. All things related to the Living Force came as naturally to him as breathing, as easily as a mere thought. 

And he had shared this with Obi-Wan freely. Openly. Far more intimately than any other being had ever managed. Not even Qui-Gon himself had been capable of this level of metaphysical mastery, especially not when . . .

"Obi-Wan."

The sound of his name snapped his thoughts back to the present, back to the feel of the man half-curled in his embrace.

"What is it now?" Anakin's voice was deeper, softer. The tone he used when taking care assessing Obi-Wan's emotions.

A smile pulled at his lips and he shifted to better accommodate Anakin's body, gathering Anakin into his arms despite his larger stature.

"You are . . . exquisite." Obi-Wan pressed a kiss to his temple. "In every way."

Anakin buried his face against Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Master, don't." 

"Oh, for galaxy's sake, Anakin. Take the compliment." Obi-Wan half rolled his eyes, but the chuckle that rose in his throat was a sound of genuine affection.

"Hmmn," Anakin mumbled against his shoulder, but the mirroring hold upon Obi-Wan's body tightened to a near stifling degree and the Force pulsed between them with a receptive flicker. 

Just for a moment. 

_(TBC . . . . . )_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't expecting them to end it like that, but then again, WHEN AM I EVER "in the know" with these two. Hell, I'm just the writer! I think it's fitting, though. I'm not into wrapping up a scene with a perfect romantic bow. ;)


	21. I Have Merely Transformed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin reflects on an unpleasant memory in a new light.

Evening had bled into the first faint creeping of daylight by the time Anakin so much as stirred. Shafts of pale light filtered through fabric that curtained the transparisteel doors, a muddled yet brilliant contrast to the shadows of plant life that resided upon the balcony.

Anakin rubbed at one eye with a blink.

While Qui-Gon's plant collection had always been a rather impressive spread of potted plants, the greenery had shifted overnight, tangling itself in a myriad of colors and vine work across nearly every viable surface of the balcony. 

Curiosity got the better of him as he untangled himself with gentle care from the arms of his still-sleeping mentor. Obi-Wan did not awaken, but merely curled a bit more fully onto his side with a sigh of contentment. 

Anakin tilted his head with an assessing stare. The faint lines that had begun to grow deeper as Obi-Wan had aged were near invisible as he slept, lending him an appearance of one far younger, despite the rather prominent beard. Although Obi-Wan was characteristically light sleeper by nature, he did not so much as stir when Anakin rose.

A smile curved one side of Anakin's mouth. Perhaps Obi-Wan had needed the rest a bit more than he had let on. Tasking himself with caring for Anakin had probably proven to be an exhausting endeavor to some degree.

And of course, there was the matter of their rather intense Force-bonding hours earlier. A pleasurable soreness lingered deep within his muscles, faint but present with the right movement, reminding him that he had not, in fact, somehow imagined the entire event in a fit of fever-induced dreaming. 

Sorting through the haphazard pile of clothing, he donned both the pants and the sleep tunic before shuffling back into his sleeping quarters to acquire his heavy, woolen robe. 

As much as he enjoyed Obi-Wan's company, residing in their shared quarters for days on end was stifling the flow of the Living Force within him. He simply needed to breathe. The balcony was an ideal spot for such things and Anakin slid the tranparisteel door aside with a swipe of his hand, stepping out into the brisk morning air.

Coruscant was already bustling with activity, the haze of morning's slow approach the only proof that nature managed to still exist outside of the Jedi Temple. Often, Anakin wondered just why the Jedi had chosen such a place. Why not a more secluded, wooded environment where the heart of the Living Force could be felt and experienced more fully? 

A tendril of greenery tickled his foot and Anakin paused to admire the small jungle of plants that resided upon the balcony. Qui-Gon's plants. 

_It would seem that your presence pleases them._

Anakin glanced up from coaxing the newest stalk of green into his hand.

 _Obi-Wan has done a good job with your plants, Master. I've never tended to plants of my own before,_ Anakin thought. 

The slightest hint of warmth graced his cheek. _I sometimes tend to them myself._

The bud of a nearby sungazer vine began to unfurl, cobalt petals tipped in lavender reaching for the sky and Anakin knelt to observe it at a better angle.

_He misses you._ Anakin traced his finger along the tender edge of the new flower. _I miss you._

An unseen breeze stirred the curls that settled near the collar of his tunic. 

_I have gone nowhere, dear one. I have merely transformed._

Anakin swallowed against the lump that had begun to form in his throat. Yes, he remembered all too well the day that Qui-Gon had "transformed." It wasn't the "Jedi way" to speak of such things, but then again, Anakin had never cared for some of the constraints of Jedi life. Still, this was one particular sore spot for the young man, who had had his grief questioned and distilled by many.

Except one person.

He glanced to the horizon where the cresting circles of the twin suns had begun to rise. It had been a day much like this one, clear and cloudless, the chill of impending winter sweeping cold fingers throughout the atmosphere. 

He had watched in secret as they prepared Qui-Gon's body, grooming his hair and straightening his tunic in a manner that seemed at odds with the somewhat ruffled appearance the Jedi Master often seemed to keep. In the short time that Anakin had grown to know him, he had learned that neatness and an orderly air were better attributed to Obi-Wan rather than his Master. While not slovenly by any means, Qui-Gon's look was freer in nature, his uniform always slightly wrinkled, boots in need of a shine.

It was one of the things Anakin had loved most about him.

He remembered the way Obi-Wan had stood before Qui-Gon's wardrobe for what seemed like hours, the way he ran his fingers over every garment, how his hand clenched the fabric as if to match the seizing of his own heart. 

Obi-Wan had stood alone in his grief, silent and visually composed, but energetically ungrounded, a mess of turmoil and barely contained sadness. 

And Anakin had not understood. Why was expressing grief "bad?" His own sadness had been two-fold, compounded not only by the loss of a potential mentor, but due to the absence of his mother as well. It was more than even the exuberant, bright-eyed child could bear. The taste of such tragedy was a heavy mantle upon his small shoulders and he had felt as if he could not breathe from the weight of it.

_What would happen to him now?_

"Anakin?"

Obi-Wan's voice snapped him back to the present plane and he blinked, thumbing away a crease of moisture that had gathered beneath one eye. 

"I . . . couldn't stay inside anymore," Anakin said.

A hand rested upon his shoulder and squeezed. "I understand."

He brushed the tips of Obi-Wan's fingers with his own before rising to his feet, leaving the newly bloomed sungazer vine to curl amongst its brethren. 

The gentle smile that greeted him faded into a concerned creasing of Obi-Wan's brow as he stepped towards Anakin, not with his usual methodical care, but as if the action were a natural extension of his movement rather than a calculated attempt to give Anakin personal space.

"What's the matter?" Obi-Wan asked.

"Nothing," Anakin said more out of habit than an actual attempt at concealment.

A finger traced a line of wetness near his scar and down the side of his face, the hand coming to rest upon his cheek. "Please do not shut me out, dear one."

Anakin laid his mechanical hand over the gentle cupping of fingers. "Did he call you that, too?"

"He?" Obi-Wan repeated with a tilt of his head.

Anakin raised his gaze to meet Obi-Wan's questioning eyes. "Qui-Gon."

His former Master favored him with a slow blink that barely managed to temper his surprise. "I . . . ." Obi-Wan cleared his throat. "I suppose he did upon rare occasion, yes. Why do you ask?"

Anakin found that he could not answer. The words caught in his throat, tangled with the lump there, and refused to pass his lips.

Obi-Wan's silence seemed to stretch into a small eternity, the backdrop of Coruscant's bustling activity fading to static in his ears. 

"He speaks to you, doesn't he?" Obi-Wan's voice was soft.

The younger Jedi managed a barely perceptible nod.

Obi-Wan turned his gaze to the horizon. "I . . . have called to him through the Force for many years now, but have yet to receive an answer. I cannot reach him. I cannot hear him." The Jedi Master laid a hand upon the durasteel railing of the balcony, fingers curling over the metal. "I do not know what I do wrong." 

The soft-spoken confession clawed at Anakin's heart. Rare was the time that his former Master displayed any sort of emotional disconcert, much less the sort of helpless confusion that mired his tone now. 

Anakin's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, the faintest breeze ruffling his hair once more as he laid his fingers atop Obi-Wan's hand. "He hears you."

Beneath his palm, the fingers clenched into a fist. 

So often, Anakin had been the one to seek comfort from his Master, climbing into his bed at odd hours and invading every inch of his personal space without concern. Always, Obi-Wan had allowed it, never questioning the need, only providing what Anakin desired. Neither spoke of it. The exchange had always been understood. 

Now, it was Obi-Wan who reached for Anakin, not with the grand gesture of an embrace or a request, but rather simply by turning his hand over to lace his fingers through Anakin's own. It wasn't until his former Master turned to face him that Anakin saw it, the rawness of the grief that had never been allowed to surface, the facade of normalcy fissured and crumbling. 

Anakin lifted an arm in invitation, the draping sleeve of his robe nearly covering his mechanical hand as he extended it, knowing full well what it would cost the other man to accept. Fingers grasped the lapels of his tunic as Obi-Wan not only stepped into his embrace, but clung to him.

"Stars, I can almost . . . _smell him_ upon your skin," Obi-Wan murmured. "I can almost feel . . ."

The quiver of his voice fractured and the Force seemed to waver and tremble for the briefest instant before the impact of Obi-Wan's grief all but saturated their bond. Anakin reached for the railing to steady himself and found that he could not manage, choosing instead to sink to the ground amongst the myriad of plants, half-pulling the other man into his lap.

"I have tried for such a long time." 

Obi-Wan's broken lament pierced something kindred and vulnerable within him and Anakin tightened his embrace into a fierce hold.

"I will teach you," Anakin murmured.

He buried his nose in the softness of Obi-Wan's hair and raised a hand to touch it, as if realizing for the first time just how it drifted like silk between his fingers. And as quickly as the spell of grief had overcome his former Master, it began to recede. Obi-Wan rebuilt himself as if he were a living spire, every brick in its proper place, each crack solidified with emotional mortar until the smooth perfection of his usual stoic demeanor began to reshape itself. 

But not completely. Where the walls had once been opaque, there was now a light inside, a small flicker of invitation, faint but present. 

Behind the softness of his Master's hair, Anakin smiled. 

Reaching into the folds of his robe, he brought forth a folded handkerchief and presented to his Master without ceremony as the other man straightened just enough to put a bit of space between them.

"Thank you," Obi-Wan said as he patted the edge of the neatly folded square beneath one eye before glancing down at it with a tilt of his head. "I did not think you owned one."

Anakin shrugged a shoulder. "I stole it from your drawer."

Obi-Wan managed a long-suffering look, but ruined it with a chuckle. The sound soothed Anakin's heart.

"We should go back inside," Obi-Wan said. "If you think I have not noticed your sniffling, you are mistaken." 

"Okay," Anakin consented with argument. Clasping Obi-Wan's lapel between his fingers, he leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his mouth before he rose to his feet.

He paused, offering the other man his hand. A smile of a different nature curved his lips as the fingers slipped into his grasp, the grip firm and trusting.

(TBC . . . )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this made me cry, dammit. HOW DARE . . .


	22. Crimson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan shares a precious memory with Anakin.

Anakin's excursion onto the balcony had cost him, and although the other man would not admit such things, the effects were obvious. The quiet sniffling had escalated into what was quickly becoming a dire need for a handkerchief. After settling his companion back upon the couch, Obi-Wan excused himself into his private quarters to procure one. Or three. Corellian Fever was notorious for the leading one to believe that its symptoms had receded, only to have them return with a violent vengeance. 

Opening the top drawer of the durasteel dresser revealed an empty corner where his usual stack of folded cloths were nestled. A small furrow creased his brow. Perhaps he had underestimated the severity of that particular symptom. But the Jedi Master was, of course, always prepared. 

Several drawers down was a secondary pile of freshly laundered squares tucked behind neat stacks of clothing. His fingers brushed the fabric of a tunic as he reached for the handkerchiefs and his hand curled back into itself. The material was shimmer silk blend, light as an inner tunic but warm as a cloak, the coloration a red so dark, it was nearly black. Not the practical clothing of a Jedi, but something more formal. 

Obi-Wan allowed his hand to rest upon the fabric, eyes fluttering closed. He had forgotten the tunic existed, but the memory of its origins sprung fresh within his mind. 

_A diplomatic meeting. The signing of a peace treaty. Qui-Gon's gracious smile. It had been one of the few times his Master had truly seemed at ease amongst political dealings. There had been food. Laughter. Yes, he remembered it well . . ._

"Master."

The dark chime of Anakin's voice sent him hurtling back to the present moment. How long had he stood there?

"Oh," Obi-Wan said with a blink. "I . . . I am sorry, Anakin. I was . . . ."

Doing what, exactly? Dwelling on the past? Participating in that which a Jedi should not? 

A hand rested upon his shoulder, the heavy warmth a anchor to the present. "It's okay," Anakin said. "You were just gone a long time." 

"My apologies," Obi-Wan said again.

Anakin shook his head.

The Jedi Master gathered several folded squares from the drawer and presented them to his companion, who accepted them with a smile.

"That should take care of you for a while, at least," Obi-Wan said.

Or not, depending on just how many times Anakin's sinuses decided to inflict their rebellious torture upon the poor man. He moved to close the drawer, gaze lingering upon the dark red fabric.

"Anakin. Wait a moment."

The younger man paused, one eyebrow arched.

Obi-Wan's fingers closed over the tunic with one last squeeze before he withdrew the clothing from the drawer. "Here," he said, presenting the folded bundle to his former apprentice. "I believe this would suit you." 

Anakin accepted the tunic with a slow tilt of his head, fingers running the length of the sleeve, lingering upon the fine embroidery near the cuff. "Where did you get this?"

Obi-Wan waved a hand. "It matters not." He tugged at the rogue tie of Anakin's sleep tunic with one hand. "Try it on." 

Setting the stack of handkerchiefs atop the dresser, Anakin obediently shed the rumpled sleep tunic, allowing it to fall to the floor before unfolding the red fabric. Obi-Wan's gaze followed the movement of his shoulders as he shrugged the new clothing into place, watched as the fabric draped itself over the fair skin. The edge of the sleeve hit just below his wrist, the hem of the tunic stopping mid-thigh. A near perfect fit. Just as he knew it would be.

However, it was the color that truly struck him, the rich claret a stark contrast to Anakin's fine features, the intricate design of the dark bronze thread that formed the embroidered edges the perfect counterpoint to Anakin's blond-streaked hair. The younger man appeared noble, almost aristocratic, like the offspring of a wealthy ruler rather than cast from the humility of a Jedi Knight.

"By the Force," Obi-Wan murmured as he reached to smooth a crease in the lapel. 

"What?" Anakin said.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat a little. "It's just that you're . . . so stunning." He ran a hand down Anakin's chest. "It fits you perfectly."

Anakin's brow furrowed. "Is it yours?"

"Obviously not," Obi-Wan chuckled. "I haven't the shoulders for such a thing." 

"Well," Anakin said slowly. "Then _why . . ._ " He paused mid-sentence, gaze shifting to Obi-Wan's with a keen, almost disturbed sense of understanding.

"No," Obi-Wan said, grasping his wrist when the other man attempted to slide his arm free of the material. "It is yours now."

"I can't," Anakin protested, but Obi-Wan's head shake was firm.

"It does me no good in this drawer," Obi-Wan said. "Seeing it upon your body brings me joy. I want you to have it." He clasped the tips of Anakin's fingers in his own. " _He_ would have wanted you to have it."

Despite his hesitancy, Anakin managed a smile, squeezing Obi-Wan's hands within his own. "Thank you, Master." He bent to press a kiss to Obi-Wan's lips, a lingering exchange of warmth that sent a tingling charge through Obi-Wan's body. 

"I haven't the faintest idea where you might wear it, but surely there will come a time," Obi-Wan said.

Anakin trailed the back of his hand down Obi-Wan's cheek. "Maybe I'll just wear it for you sometime."

The faintest hint of color warmed his face and Obi-Wan flicked his gaze to the upper corner of the room before making its way back to the intent nature of Anakin's stare. "I would enjoy that."

The hand cupped the side of his face. "I thought you might."

The dark suggestion of the other man's tone sent a shiver down his spine as he reached to trace the fine line of Anakin's jaw, dragging the pad of his thumb over the fullness of the other man's bottom lip.

"Have you any idea just how truly striking you are?" Obi-Wan murmured. 

"Master . . ." Anakin's voice was poised for rebuttal, but Obi-Wan silenced him with the press of finger to his lip.

"Striking," Obi-Wan insisted. He captured his companion's mouth with a gentle kiss. "Captivating." His fingers trailed a path down Anakin's bare chest. "Extraordinary."

"Obi-W--"

"No, no." He laid the tips of his fingers over Anakin's mouth. "You are not allowed to object."

Anakin heaved a sigh, appeared to struggle to a cycle of improper words in his mind, and finally settled on a gentle, if not somewhat abashed smile.

"Thank you," he said at last.

Obi-Wan returned the smile with one of his own. "You're quite welcome."

Hands slid beneath the folds of his tunic, cool metal against one side of his body, calloused warmth against the other. 

"You're pretty striking yourself."

Obi-Wan tilted his gaze upward, glancing at Anakin through a fringe of ginger lashes. "You think so, do you?"

The blue clarity of Anakin's eyes was more piercing that the clearest daytime sky. "I do."

The words were a rumble against his palm, a dark vibration beneath his fingers, the lips that sought his own warm and certain. Anakin's kiss seemed to claim him, mark him somehow, as if branding him for his own. And Obi-Wan had no objections.

"And I here I thought you were beginning to feel poorly once more," Obi-Wan murmured between exchanges of lips and tongue.

Anakin's viable hand splayed across his lower back, drawing him closer. "Looks like you were mistaken." 

Grasping the lapels of the finely-spun tunic, Obi-Wan tugged Anakin down into another searching kiss and had slowly begun to edge his way back towards the bed when all-too-familiar beeping sounded from the common room. Both Jedi groaned in tandem.

"Is it yours or mine?" Anakin nipped at his ear.

"Mine, I believe." Obi-wan gasped, shoving at Anakin's shoulder. "You realize you are not helping matters, Anakin."

"That's the idea." The other man nuzzled his jaw with low purr of sound before pulling away. "Go answer the thing. Hurry up." 

"Right, then." Obi-Wan stole a quick kiss. "Stay there."

The Jedi Master half-jogged to the table where the comlink lay beeping insistently, like some impatient insect. Snatching the thing from the table, he tapped the button near the side.

"Yes, what is it?" 

He hadn't meant for his tone to sound quite so impatient, but there was little to be done for it now.

"Good morning, Master Kenobi. I realize that you are otherwise engaged caring for Skywalker, but I was wondering if perhaps I might have a moment of your time."

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair, relieved by the voice's owner, but still considerably irritated by the request.

"Of course, Master Mundi," he managed. "You shall have to forgive me. I was . . . otherwise engaged." 

_Well, that much was true . . ._

"Ah, yes," Ki-Adi Mundi's voice crackled over the speaker. "I imagine caring for young Skywalker in this condition is quite the chore."

"Not so much," Obi-Wan said as pleasantly as he could manage. "But I'm afraid I am restricted to only certain parts of the Temple while Anakin is recovering. My options for meeting you are somewhat limited. Perhaps the small greenhouse with the exotic potted plants? The younglings are not allowed in there."

"That will do," Ki-Adi said. "Shall we say half an hour or so?"

"Alright," Obi-Wan said. "I shall see you there."

Tossing the comlink back onto the counter, he made haste back into his sleeping quarters where Anakin stood waiting, sans elaborate tunic.

"What was that about?" Anakin asked.

"I haven't the faintest idea," Obi-Wan said. He slid the door shut with a wave of his hand, his gaze raking Anakin from navel to nose. "But you have approximately 15 minutes to occupy me with something else." 

Anakin stepped closer, half-Force pulling Obi-Wan into his embrace. "I only need seven." 

(TBC . . . .)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not be writing two fics at once right now. *shifty look* This is nothing unusual, though! Stay tuned for Classical Musician AU nonsense in addition to the usual "Fever" updates very soon.
> 
> Also, this bit was difficult to "pull out" at first, but they ran with it as soon as I got to the tunic. Good boys. (Edit is hasty as well. I'll fix small mistakes later!)


	23. Be Wary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ki-Adi Mundi shares an unexpected revelation with Obi-Wan.

He had dressed himself in a hasty fashion, clad only in his belted tunic, pants, and boots, the fullness of his robe draping his shoulders. Surely no one would question his lack of a complete uniform when the majority of his time had been spent caring for Anakin.

Or in this case, the reverse. 

A smile curved one side of his mouth. The other man had pleasured him so fully, it was a wonder that he could manage a proper gait. Despite Anakin's rather cocky claim of needing only seven minutes to fulfill him, the assumption had been incorrect.

It had taken less than five. 

The younger Jedi's connection to the Living Force was astounding in its purity, his ability to manipulate it in this particular way a breath-stealing exhilaration that Obi-Wan could neither fathom or control. The best he could do was simply give himself over to it and hope to all the heavens in the galaxy that no one had borne auditory witness to the manner in which Anakin's name clawed itself from his throat. 

One would think that for all of his Jedi training, his control over such things would be a bit better. It almost made him chuckle to realize that this was, in fact, not so. 

He took his time ambling through the corridors, enjoying the luxury of stretching his legs and not concerning himself with what Ki-Adi Mundi may or may not have to say to him. His intuition whispered that it was a private matter and not something of political importance. Or at least, he hoped not.

The smaller greenhouse that housed the more exotic plants was cultivated and maintained by only a handful of Masters. Such flora was often carnivorous and sensitive to both emotion and movement. Definitely not a place for younglings, but most excellent for exercises in stillness and meditation. Interesting that Master Mundi had agreed to the location.

Sliding the door open with a wave of his hand, Obi-Wan stepped inside, several thick-vined species of plant life rustling in acknowledgement of the visitation. Ki-Adi was readily visible near the edge of the only fountain the room, seated upon the rocky ledge in quiet contemplation, hands folded in this lap.

"Master Kenobi," the Cerean said without opening his eyes. "My, my, I could feel your energy from the next corridor." 

If Obi-Wan were startled by the admission, he did not display it. "I see the fire lilies are looking well this year."

"Indeed." Ki-Adi opened his eyes, patting the space beside him. "But let us not pretend that we are here to discuss the state of the fire lilies."

Obi-Wan took a seat upon the ledge, his gaze calm and steady. "What is it that you wish to say to me, Master Mundi?"

Intuition and a hefty dose of common sense already knew the answer to that. Obi-Wan had sensed it far before venturing into the greenhouse. Very little escaped the Cerean's notice, especially not where affairs of this nature were concerned. Master Mundi was the only Jedi in the Order allowed to not only marry, but procreate. With one bond-wife and several honor-wives, the Cerean boasted a healthy and robust family, but it was not without complications and great sacrifice. The balance of family endearment versus attachment was a struggle for any being engaged in acts of service to the galaxy, but even more so for a Jedi. While attachment was strictly forbidden, Obi-Wan has always wondered how the other man managed such a feat. 

How he himself would learn manage it. 

"And just how is young Skywalker?" Ki-Adi began, stroking the edges of his graying beard with two fingers. 

_Magnificent. Wonderful. Breath-stealingly passionate._

"Better," Obi-Wan answered in a mild, almost bland tone. 

Ki-Adi slid his gaze to the side, eyeing Obi-Wan as if he were a rather poor, if not amusing farce. 

"Master Kenobi." Ki-Adi shook his head, his topknot swaying with the motion. "There are many within the walls of this Temple that would simply accept your assessment and say nothing more, but I am not one of them."

Obi-Wan sat up a bit straighter, body stiffening. "I beg your pardon."

Ki-Adi chuckled. "Be at ease. I haven't called you here to chastise you."

One auburn eyebrow arched high. "Haven't you?"

A knowing smile curved the Cerean's lips. "No." He glanced at the fountain for a moment before flicking his stare back to Obi-Wan. "But surely you do not think me a fool, Master Kenobi."

"I haven't the faintest idea what you might be referencing," Obi-Wan said.

"Don't you?" Ki-Adi rose to his feet and paced a short distance away, hands clasped behind his back. "I will not tarry with this, Master Kenobi. I know that you are anxious to return to your . . . companion." Ki-Adi walked the length of patch of newly budding lilies, sweeping a hand atop the pearly buds. "I've had visions of it, you realize. For some time, I have known such things would occur, but of course, visions are not always what they seem." 

Obi-Wan allowed himself a slow blink. "Visions?"

"Yes," Ki-Adi continued. "As you know, the Council has conflicting views regarding your former apprentice. Some believe him to be a danger to himself and to others. Some are firm in the belief that he will bring balance to the Force. This would, of course, require that he learn how to achieve balance within himself, difficult within the constraints of the Code for one as dualistic as Anakin Skywalker. His needs are perhaps different than the standards that we hold ourselves to as Jedi." The Cerean paused. "However, it would appear that he has done precisely what I anticipated."

"And . . ." Obi-Wan licked suddenly dry lips before continuing. "What . . . would that be?"

Ki-Adi turned on his heel to face him. "Our Chosen One has chosen _you._ " 

For a moment, Obi-Wan's mind became a palate of stark blankness, his ability to form a coherent sentence lost upon the startling gravity of Ki-Adi Mundi's realization. Stars, if the Cerean could see such things, what of the others? Was his own part in this facet of their relationship so visible, so blatantly obvious? 

A hand lighted upon Obi-Wan's wrist. "To be loved by the Chosen One is a difficult thing, Master Kenobi." Ki-Adi's voice was gentle. "But it is also a thing of wonder. Cherish it, but be wary."

"Of Anakin?" Obi-Wan asked with a tilt of his head.

Ki-Adi caught and held his gaze. "Of everything."

(TBC . . . .)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hasty edit is hasty! 
> 
> I've always liked Master Mundi. It was a pleasure to write him! I would go on about how I realized that I've deviated from his canon story a bit, but the story is labeled "canon-divergence" for a reason. ;) I hope you enjoyed it!


	24. Stars, What Shall I Do?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan has a not-so-startling revelation.

The other man was curled in a ball upon his bed, tangled in a mess of sheets and blankets, Obi-Wan's sleep tunic clutched between the fingers of his metal hand and pressed beneath his cheek. In the wake of slumber, Anakin's features were a slack, gentled version of their usual intensity, making him appear younger, almost innocent somehow. 

And of course, Obi-Wan certainly knew better than that.

Shedding his outer robe and belt, he climbed into the rumpled maze of sheets and draped his arms around Anakin's shoulders, smiling when the other man edged closer to him, fitting every possible inch of his larger stature against Obi-Wan's body.

"Did you have a nice nap, dear one?" Obi-Wan asked as he threaded his fingers through the dark blond locks.

"Mmm-hm," Anakin mumbled against his shoulder. He stifled a yawn with his free hand before nuzzling the underside of Obi-Wan's chin. "How did it go with Mundi?" 

"I'm not quite sure, honestly," Obi-Wan confessed. He ran a hand along Anakin's bare side and back up again, taking a moment to appreciate the sleek lines of his body. "He knows."

Within his embrace, Anakin stiffened. 

"It's odd, really," Obi-Wan mused. "I got the distinct impression that he would support such a thing."

Finger curled around the lapel of his tunic. _"Thing?"_

"Yes." Obi-Wan pulled away, slipping a finger beneath Anakin's chin and tipping his gaze to his own. "What is this 'thing,' exactly?" 

The stare that met his own was wary and shaded upon first glance, but behind the initial reluctance was a far more vulnerable emotion, an almost naked brand of something he never wished to see in his companion's eyes. Fear.

"I . . ." Anakin wet his lips, flicked his gaze to the side. "I don't . . ." 

But Obi-Wan knew. He realized it on a level he never so much as considered but somehow had always been known. From the day the young and frightened boy had trailed behind him in the wake of Qui-Gon's death, so uncertain and in desperate need of simple human comfort, Obi-Wan had known. Later that night while Obi-Wan had strove to muffle choked despair into his pillow, that same fearful child had climbed into bed with him, wordless and without reserve, curling his small arms around Obi-Wan's neck, kissing his cheek, and pressing his body against Obi-Wan's own until his grief had quieted. 

_The Master does not choose the Padawan. It is the Padawan that chooses the Master._

Yoda had said this long ago, not to Obi-Wan himself, but rather to Qui-Gon, whom Obi-Wan had desperately wished to learn from more than anything in the galaxy. 

And then? There had been Anakin.

Obi-Wan pressed his forehead to Anakin's own, the dry heat of lingering fever warming his skin, the curls of his hair brushing his temple.

_He has chosen you._

Again and again, despite Obi-Wan's attempts to distance himself and remain apart from both his emotions and the emotions of those around him, Anakin had chosen him. Above duty, above dogma, above the explicit order of the Jedi Council, Anakin had chosen him. Always before all others. Always before himself.

_By the stars._

So many times, Obi-Wan had looked with his eyes, but had seen nothing. Until now.

He drew the other man into his embrace, felt the familiar fit of every limb against his own, the way Anakin half-shoved his head beneath his chin like a some great beast, the low rumble of comfort that escaped the younger man as he settled against Obi-Wan's chest. Contented. Secure. Trusting.

For some time, he laid as such with Anakin curled within his arms until the weight of his body became a heavy mantle of relaxation, breathing slowed and deepened, mind becoming still.

Obi-Wan carded his fingers through the soft waves, buried his hand within them.

_I love you,_ he thought. _More than I have loved anything in this universe, so much so that I cannot speak it for fear that my own sanity might shatter me from within. And for that reason, I am afraid. Euphoric. At a complete loss for who I once was. Stars, what shall I do?_

Upon his arm, fingers tightened with a barely perceptible squeeze, Anakin shifting against him with a sniffle and a faint sound of discomfort at the change in position. 

"Master," he mumbled against Obi-Wan's tunic.

The digits of his viable hand twitched and for a moment, Obi-Wan froze.

_Dreaming. Anakin was dreaming. Of course he was._

The Jedi Master released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding before adjusting himself so that Anakin could curl himself nearer to his chest. 

"It's alright, my dear one," Obi-Wan murmured. "You are safe."

A sigh. Another sniffle. A nuzzle near his collarbone. Something else mumbled in what sounded suspiciously like Huttese. 

How could one man manage to be endearing, pathetic, and comical in less than five seconds?

A bit more shuffling of limbs and Anakin untangled himself enough to put a bit distance between them with a hesitant push of his hand, a sudden, sharp inhalation seizing him followed by several wrenching sneezes that forced a shudder from his shoulders, as if the effort were somehow too great for his body.

"Oh dear," Obi-Wan sighed.

"Sorry," Anakin muttered, wiping at the corner of his eye with a knuckled finger.

Obi-Wan gave his shoulder an affectionate pinch. "We've been over this apologetic nonsense of yours. It isn't as if you can help it." 

"I know." Anakin coughed into his sleeve. "But I'm still sorry."

"By the Force," Obi-Wan said with a shake of his head. "I'm making you that tea. You haven't a choice in the matter now." 

Anakin cast him a weary smile as he touched the side of Obi-Wan's face with the tips of his fingers. "Okay, _pukaneekee._ " 

Something in Obi-Wan's chest fluttered like a caged thing and he grasped the fingers in his own, brushing a kiss atop the knuckles. 

"You will lie here until I return?"

Anakin nodded.

Obi-Wan kissed the top of his hand. "Alright."

Metallic fingers gripped the lapel of his tunic with such speed, that even his Jedi reflexes failed to register the movement as Anakin jerked him closer, capturing his mouth with a kiss that was both heated and searching, possessive yet yielding. 

Anakin stole the breath from his lungs, sapped the strength from his limbs, and yet left him somehow infused and fulfilled, his entire being thrumming with a potent buzz of energy. 

The framed picture upon the wall trembled and skewed. 

Obi-Wan sat back, resisting the urge to lay a hand to his own chest as if to check himself for proper breathing. 

"What . . . was that for?"

Anakin shrugged a shoulder. "Maybe I like you."

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow. "Do you, now? When did you come to this conclusion, hmm?"

A smirk curved Anakin's lips. "I haven't the faintest idea," he said in a mocking rendition of Obi-Wan's propriety, complete with accent.

"I do _not_ sound like that, Anakin," Obi-Wan said. And chuckled. 

The other man sprawled himself atop the sheets, one arm pillowing his head, tunic gaping open at the chest. "Go," Anakin said with a wave of his free hand. "Make me some disgusting tea." 

Obi-Wan's gaze traveled the lean perfection of Anakin's body. _Right, tea. Yes._

"Stay there," he instructed.

Anakin's blue eyes caught and held his gaze. "Then hurry back." 

_______________________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan and I FOUGHT over this chapter. He wanted it one way. I wanted it another. Compromise was finally reached after 2 days of this nonsense. :P Also, I am not sure how this went from angst to humor in less than 100 words, but WHATEVER. It's just what they do. I don't even ask questions anymore!


	25. What If I Am the Reason?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin receives a stirring proclamation from his former Master.

Anakin stretched himself atop Obi-Wan's bed, the material of his heavy sleep tunic both a comfort and nuisance at once. The warmth was a welcome advantage, but the sensitivity of his skin was not. Obi-Wan hadn't been kidding about the nature of this Corellian Fever business. Although only two days had passed, it felt like an eternity of confinement to the young Jedi, who fancied himself on the move more often than not.

However, Obi-Wan's bed was comfortable, more so than his own. The clean, somewhat earthy smell of his former Master clung to nearly everything in the room, but especially the sheets. Despite his congestion, the scent was still detectable, familiar and more intoxicating than he could remember before. Rolling onto his side, he gathered the nearest pillow to his chest and plunged his face into the softness of it, inhaling as deeply as he was able.

His eyes fluttered closed, the scent of the other man seeming to fill his senses.

_Ah, yes. This was so very---_

"Anakin? What in the galaxy are you doing?"

His eyes sprang open. _By the kriffing Force . . ._

Relinquishing the pillow, he propped himself up on one elbow, tunic sliding from his shoulder just enough to flash a hint of skin.

"Nothing," he lied.

Obi-Wan's lips pursed ever so slightly, as if he were both fighting amusement and judgment. "Is that so?"

The other man approached the bed, mug of much-loathed tea in hand, which he presented to Anakin without comment.

"Thanks," Anakin said as he eyed the concoction with a curl of his lip. "I think."

Obi-Wan waved a hand. "Nonsense. Drink up. And while it's warm this time, Anakin." 

"Yeah, yeah." Struggling into a sitting position, Anakin took a small sip of the hot liquid, managing not to spit back into the mug.

A hand lighted upon his leg and squeezed. "It's quite awful, isn't it?"

Anakin wrinkled his nose. "That's being polite."

Obi-Wan chuckled.

Forcing a bit more of the horrid tea down, Anakin set the mug upon the table next to the bed and ran a hand through his hair. "Ugh."

"I know," Obi-Wan said sympathetically. "I remember drinking quite a bit more than you did. You've a stronger constitution than I had back then. Qui-Gon insisted I drink it every two hours or so. It's no wonder I can't remember having an appetite." He ran the back of his hand down Anakin's jaw with a gentle brush of knuckles. "Are you feeling better at all?"

"Somewhat," Anakin said. He caught and held the fingers between his own, turning the hand over so that he could nuzzle the other man's palm. "I'm glad you're here. With me." 

Obi-Wan's gaze softened. "There isn't any place I'd rather be."

The warmth behind those blue-green eyes was different somehow, a more radiant version of its usual gentility, an openness the other man rarely displayed more present than he could ever remember. Behind that stare, it was if something dormant had somehow come to life once more. Anakin's own shields had begun to lower, places once held sacred and secure within him reaching towards the warmth of Obi-Wan's energy, welcoming the change with a hesitant reception that grew more trusting and assured with each passing moment.

_Force, he was . . . he was . . ._

Anakin's smile faded as he averted his gaze, studying his mechanical fingers for a moment. 

"What is it?" Obi-Wan asked, voice pleasant but careful.

"I . . . was thinking about the Council," Anakin confessed. "And you."

"Me?" Obi-Wan repeated. 

"You've spent your entire life training to be a Jedi," Anakin said. "It's who you've always wanted to be. It's who you are." He raised his stare to meet Obi-Wan's questioning gaze. "What if . . . I am the reason . . . "

A finger pressed to his lips, the words dying upon his tongue.

"No," Obi-Wan said. "Regardless of what I may say or do, I am not in agreement with all the Council says or does, nor do I swallow every tenant of the Order with a willing smile. I am a Jedi, yes. But I am also simply a man, Anakin. I make my own decisions and I choose to live by those decisions." 

The pad of the Obi-Wan's thumb dragged a path across his lower lip, traced the edge of his jaw. 

"And I choose this, my dear one. I choose _you._ " 

Heat prickled the corners of his eyes as he attempted to blink away the moisture that threatened to gather there. "Why would you . . ." Anakin swallowed against the constriction of his throat, voice fracturing by the faintest thread. "Why would you do that."

A hand cupped his cheek. "Well, I should think it to be quite obvious."

A shaky, almost nervous laugh tripped its way past his lips, quieted by the slow tracing of the scar that marked the spot just beneath his eye and the hotness of the emotion he strove so desperately to contain spilled past the threshold of his lashes. 

"Oh, Anakin." Hands grasped his shoulders, pulled him into a tight, claiming embrace. "It's alright." 

But it wasn't. Not for the younger Jedi, who fought so often to control his own emotions. His passion. His need for something greater than himself. Mechanical and viable fingers clutched the fabric of Obi-Wan's tunic.

"There, now. I've got you."

The gentle assurance of the words tore a sob from the depths of his chest, a shudder traversing his shoulders. He curled himself against Obi-Wan as if he could not get close enough, as if he could somehow climb inside the warmth of his Master's embrace so that it might suffuse him.

Gradually, the unsteady tremor of his breath subsided, the feel of Obi-Wan's hand between his shoulder blades rubbing a soothing circle of warmth there that quieted not only his emotional state, but his energetic one as well.

After a bit of sniffling, he pulled away back enough to raise his stare to Obi-Wan's own before averting his gaze, brushing at one eye with a knuckled finger. The tips of Obi-Wan's fingers tilted his gaze back and Anakin all but forced himself to remain still, to look into the kind depths of those blue-green eyes without fear or shame.

"You are so dear to me," Obi-Wan said. "You haven't any idea, do you?" 

"No," Anakin admitted. "I mean . . . _sometimes,_ but--" 

Obi-Wan leaned in to capture his lips in a brief, lingering kiss. _"Always."_

"Don't . . . "Anakin said so softly, the word was a mere whisper of sound.

Obi-Wan's voice was a breathy murmur of richness against his ear. "It is too late for me. I fear cannot stop myself."

Nor did the younger Jedi wish for him to try. Not ever again.

(TBC . . . )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Kenobi wasn't referencing sexy times. ;) It's progressed beyond that and now I'm in so kriffing deep, EVERYONE is in trouble. Gah, my feels.


	26. An Eternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan and Anakin share a simple, but tender moment that leads to something more.

The beep of the comlink was an unwelcome annoyance, but Obi-Wan groped for the thing just the same.

Beside him, Anakin mumbled something incoherent in his sleep, the fingers of his metallic hand that splayed across Obi-Wan's bare stomach twitching with a hint of movement. A smile curved Obi-Wan's mouth as he silenced the comlink, his hand carding through Anakin's disheveled hair.

"Kenobi here," he said into the comlink, all too aware of his sleep-thickened voice.

"Kenobi."

 _Mace._ Stars, the last person he wished to endure at this moment, not with Anakin molded against him with such secure, trusting comfort.

"Master Windu," Obi-Wan said, affecting a more proper tone. "What can I do for you?"

"How is Skywalker fairing?"

 _Wonderfully. He is more exquisite than I could have ever imagined, gentler than any lover should be capable, yet passionate enough to steal my every thought with a single breath._

"Better," Obi-Wan answered. "His fever has begun to break."

Mace's voice crackled over the connection. "That is a good sign, then."

"It is, indeed."

Warm fingers crept the length of his side, delving beneath the waistband of his pants, tracing the curve of his hip.

"Stop that!" Obi-Wan hissed.

"What?" Confusion edged Mace's tone and Obi-Wan grappled for the hand that sought his favor, tangling his fingers with Anakin's own.

"Nothing," Obi-Wan lied. "Have you need of me for something, Master Windu?"

 _I have need of you._

The echo of Anakin's voice within his mind was as clear as if he had spoken the words aloud. Heat rose to pinken his cheeks and the Jedi Master swatted his suddenly amorous partner with a well-placed smack upon the shoulder.

"Not at this moment, no," Mace continued. "But we will require a bit more information about the incident at the opera house. You need to make a statement before the Council so that we can relay the information to the proper authorities." 

Lips pressed against his neck, feathering a path of kisses to his shoulder.

"Of-of course." Obi-Wan silently cursed himself for the stammer in his voice and narrowed his eyes at the smiling imp beside him.

 _Anakin, cease this at once. You are going to get us both into trouble._

"Apologies, Master Windu," Obi-Wan said. "I am attempting to balance several things at once and my hands are otherwise engaged."

"Yes," the voice over the comlink said. "I can imagine that caring for Skywalker is quite the task. But I do need your statement, Master Kenobi. As soon as you are able to remove yourself from quarantine, contact me for further instructions."

"Very well." Obi-Wan clamped a hand over Anakin's mouth, smothering a chuckle from the other man.

"Windu, out."

Tossing the comlink aside, Obi-Wan favored his companion with a look that was only half-exasperation.

"Honestly, Anakin. You cannot do this when I am trying to--"

The other man captured his mouth, silencing his would-be lecture with a searching, lingering kiss.

"Anakin . . ." Obi-Wan murmured against the slow, sensual exploration of Anakin's mouth, the caress of a battle-roughened hand upon his bare skin.

The touch of Anakin's fingers upon his body inflicted a boneless surrender, the offering of his lips a potent delicacy he found himself savoring long after its release. Joining with Anakin was a particular brand of all-encompassing pleasure, but the simplicity of exchanging caresses and kissing was an intimacy all its own.

" _Pukaneekee,_ " the other man rumbled against his ear.

Such a small thing, an almost silly word really, yet it set Obi-Wan's heart into a tripping rhythm, sent his blood surging to the surface.

Some strange part of him almost hoped that Anakin's illness would linger for a while longer. A few more days at the very least. A few more days of touching this man, of awakening to his body curled against his own, of feeling the silken strands of his hair as he threaded them through his fingers. 

Of seeing the way those blue eyes regarded him with such vulnerable, growing trust . . . of witnessing the way Anakin's entire being transformed when he smiled.

"I could lie like this for an eternity," Obi-Wan confessed. "Just like this, unmoving and without a care." His finger traced a path down Anakin's cheek. "With you here beside me."

The faintest hint of an abashed smile curved Anakin's mouth and he flicked his gaze to the side, but the pleasure Obi-Wan's words had wrought left a glow upon more than just his skin. It was as if his very aura were tinted with it somehow, a reflection. A mirror. 

_Stars, how he loved this man . . ._

"I'd like that," Anakin said. "Just to be . . . beside you. Like this." Blue eyes slid to capture his gaze, almost shy somehow yet always afire with something tenacious. Wild. 

Obi-Wan gathered him into his embrace, twined every limb he could manage with Anakin's own, pressed their bodies together until no space remained, only the feel of skin upon skin, the exchange of warmth, the pulsing of Anakin's heart against his own. 

_How would he ever let this go? How in the galaxy was he to manage it all?_

"I need you, my dear one," Obi-Wan murmured into the soft nest of Anakin's hair. "I know that your body needs rest, but I find that I need you desperately in this moment."

Hand gripped his hips, fingers pressing into the bare flesh. The dark purr of Anakin's voice prickled his entire being to attention.

"Then have me . . ." 

(TBC . . . . )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the slow updates! The holiday season seriously cuts into my writing time, but I WILL make it up to you! This is just the beginning. ;)
> 
> Hasty edit is also hasty. I'll fix a few things tomorrow. I just wanted you all to have it so badly! This chapter was about to be HELLA long, so rather than make you wait until possibly Saturday or next week, I decided to cut it in half and give you the shorter part of it now. Hang on tight.


	27. Spiritual Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan and Anakin share a passionate moment and receive an unexpected visitor.

The corners of Obi-Wan's eyes crinkled with soft appreciation but for a moment before he cupped Anakin's face within his hands and captured his mouth in a kiss. Ever attuned to whims of those fortunate enough to understand it, the Force surged between them, a potent mix of passion and need.

Clothing was discarded, naked flesh entwined, and quiet breaths escalated to a panting rush. 

A hand gripped him, guiding him lower, taking a moment to twist nimble fingers around the head of his arousal, rending a shudder from his body.

"Have me." 

Anakin's dark voice rumbling against his ear, heavy with the promise of all things forbidden to a Jedi as Obi-Wan obeyed the command, unable to stop himself, unable to proceed with the tender gentleness that his partner deserved. Although, given the way Anakin arched himself to meet the thrust of Obi-Wan's hips, he suspected that sweetness was the last thing on Anakin's mind.

Hands gripped his hips, urging him deeper until a languid groan ebbed from the depths of Anakin's chest, head tipped back, hair a disheveled mess of waves. The sound of his lover's pleasure teased his own into a frenzy and Obi-Wan felt the Force pulse between them as if it were a living vessel of heat that spilled into his very core.

Anakin's Force signature did not gently twine with his own, but rather asserted itself with a stranglehold, drawing his energy into a fierce tangle until Obi-Wan gasped.

Beneath his body, Anakin arched against him, the strain of pleasure cording his neck, sweat beading his brow. Fingers fell from one hip to fist the sheets, lips parted and swollen from a bout of bruising kisses, the flush of fever and passion coloring his skin to rosy hue.

Stars, the man was exquisite in his pleasure. _Beautiful. Breath-stealing._

And he gave himself completely to Obi-Wan's whims without question, without the need for anything but his Master's returned passion.

Within the writhing heat of their Force bond, Obi-Wan's love was a cooling, gentling breeze that whispered against his cheek. Anakin's mind brushed his own and Obi-Wan's being seemed to seize with the merest metaphysical touch.

_"Obi-Wan . . ."_ Anakin panted his name.

_His name._ It was spiritual music to ears.

The indulgence between them was short-lived, Anakin's energetic luminosity dragging the release from his core despite his efforts to make the moment last, the other man's lips alternately muffling and emboldening his vocalizations until he collapsed atop him in a panting heap.

Mechanical fingers threaded his hair with far more gentle precision than even flesh could manage, a subtle pull and lifting of strands until his breathing normalized.

Grasping the fingertips of Anakin's free hand, Obi-Wan kissed the tops of his knuckled, cradled the hand against his chest. 

"Thank you," he murmured.

Strong arms wrapped his shoulders, drew him into the warmth of a protective embrace, so much the opposite of how things appeared between them, but Obi-Wan allowed himself to be held, allowed Anakin to rub his back, to stroke his hair.

"What is it." Anakin's dark voice chimed near his ear without inflection, the expectation of a proper answer apparent in his tone.

"I . . ." 

The hand upon Anakin's chest tightened into a fist.

"I do not wish to speak of it now," Obi-Wan said in earnest. "I would very much simply enjoy you as you are in this moment."

The embrace tightened just a touch. "Alright." 

Obi-Wan curled against him, nuzzling the underside of his chin. For now, there was only this.

____________________________

 

Sometime during the course of the evening, their positions had shifted. Anakin awoke to find his Master pressed against his back, his face buried the softness of Anakin's hair, arms around his body, his slighter form pressed against Anakin's body with as little space between them as possible. 

A smile curved one side of Anakin's mouth. So often, it was he who sought the comfort of Obi-Wan's embrace, he who desired such physical contact. To experience it from Obi-Wan's perspective was entirely new. It pleased him.

He nested himself deeper within the confines of the sheets, unwilling to move, lest he disturb the other man who slept so soundly behind him. And here, Obi-Wan had been fussing over Anakin's need for rest. Clearly, the other man was far more exhausted than he would let on. 

It was not until the jarring buzz of the front door startled him out of his relaxation that Anakin so much as made an effort to move.

Force, who could that be?

"What is it?" 

From behind him, Obi-Wan's soft voice tickled the back of his neck.

"Door," Anakin mumbled. "You expecting anyone?"

Obi-Wan's voice became suddenly grave. "No." He sat up, placing a hand on Anakin's shoulder. "Stay here."

Anakin considered arguing the fact that he was perfectly capable of answering the door, sick or not, but the heaviness of Obi-Wan's hand upon his arm stopped the assessment. Instead, he merely nodded, watching as the other man hauled himself out of bed, donned his tunic and pants and smoothed the wrinkles from them, belting it and making himself presentable in a matter of moments, running a hand through his hair to smooth it into place.

Such was the way with Obi-Wan. Always dutiful. Always prepared. Unlike Anakin, who hadn't the faintest idea just where his own tunic might be. Or his pants. 

Well, that could present a problem . . . 

"Yes?" Obi-Wan's voice carried from the shared common space near the entrance before he reached the door.

"Master Kenobi, may I come in?"

Anakin's eyes narrowed at the familiarity of the voice's owner. Ki-Audi Mundi. What could the Jedi Master possibly want now?

(TBC . . . . _insert ominous chord here!_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on a few things at once like trying to finish editing "Intuition" and also exploring something new that I will soon publish here in honor of "The Force Awakens," but never fear! I'm still well in the grips of this story and will continue to update every 7-10 days as usual! :) I just love these boys . . .


	28. The Approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Master Mundi calls a conference with Anakin and Obi-Wan and begins to reveal a piece of shocking reasoning.

The voiced of the two Jedi Masters carried from the space of the common room, Master Mundi's voice the richer of the two, Obi-Wan's a conversational counterpoint.

 _Tunic. Yes._ He had to find the thing.

Pushing the blankets aside, Anakin scoured the floor until he caught sight of the thing, a puddle of darkness rumpled to the stars and back in a miserable heap near the chair.

_Oh, by the Force . . ._

He plucked it from the ground, shook it out, eyed it for a moment, and simply shrugged, pulling it over his head.

_And now, where were those blasted pants?_

"Anakin." 

Obi-Wan's voice from the doorway brought him to attention, half-naked and rumpled as he was.

"Yeah?" he said.

The other Jedi stepped around the corner. "Master Mundi would like to speak with----" 

A pause. A stare.

"Oh dear."

Anakin ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "I . . .can't find my--"

"Yes, I can see that." Obi-Wan edged himself inside and closed the door behind him. 

A fervent glance around revealed nothing to either of them and Obi-Wan tossed his hands into the air with an exasperated sigh. Anakin watched as he stalked over to the durasteel dresser and pawed through the middle drawer, muttering to himself for a moment before yanking something from the back of it.

"Here." Obi-Wan tossed him the bundle of fabric. "These will have to do."

Anakin eyed the pants with a dubious expression before tugging them over his hips. Or rather, inching them up part way.

"Yeah, this isn't going to--"

"Oh, by the stars!" Obi-Wan detoured to the closet, rattling hangers and doors. "There," he said, thrusting another pair of pants into Anakin's hands. "These were Qui-Gon's. I am most certain that if he managed them, they will suit you."

Anakin could not suppress the chuckle that rumbled from his chest as he donned the pants without incident, the length of the fabric dragging the ground by a good two inches. 

Well, the Jedi Master had been a bit taller than he was.

"Obi-Wan." Anakin clasped the other man's forearm with his mechanical hand, stilling his movements. "Whatever it is that Mundi wants, it will be fine."

A sigh trickled from Obi-Wan's lips, as if he had released a breath he hadn't realized he held.

"I do hope you are right, my dear one," Obi-Wan said.

Anakin pressed a kiss to the other man's temple. "I am," he said.

Although his certainty was tenuous at best. 

Rather than give Mundi further time to contemplate just what might be going on behind closed doors, Anakin ushered his former Master out of the room first and followed in his footsteps, presenting his rumbled countenance to the Council member without pretense or concern. After all, he was technically still unwell. What did the other man expect?

"Ah, Anakin! There you are!" Master Mundi's voice was as proper as Obi-Wan's, if not more so, the smile on his face surprisingly genuine.

Anakin ran a hand through his hair. "Master Mundi," he said with a nod.

"Master Kenobi tells me that you are feeling much better." The elder Jedi's gaze swept him from navel to nose. "From the looks of things, I would agree."

A furrow formed upon Anakin's brow. Was the man joking? 

"I guess," he said.

_Anakin. . ._

Obi-Wan's voice in his head.

 _What?_ Anakin narrowed his eyes just a touch.

_You're being churlish._

Rather than bother to answer through their bond, Anakin sighed through his nose, a feat considering how difficult it still was to breathe through it.

"Obi-Wan said you wished to speak to me?" Anakin said.

No sense in wasting time with false pleasantries. Master Mundi obviously wanted something, something that couldn't wait until Anakin was in a better state to receive. He couldn't decide if that was worrisome, unnerving, or irritating. Perhaps a bit of all three.

The smile upon Master Mundi's lips faded just a touch.

"Have a seat," he said. "I would not ask that you stand in your condition. My species is not prone to Corellian Fever as much as yours, but having witnessed its effects for many years, I realize the value of rest at all times."

Anakin sat. Flicked his gaze to the Jedi Master. Suppressed a cough into the sleeve of his tunic. 

Master Mundi gestured to the space beside Anakin and Obi-Wan took a reluctant seat there, careful to maintain a polite, proper distance, hands folded in his lap. It was almost prim, the way his Master --- no, maybe that wasn't the right term for him now -- sat. So prim. So still.

Anakin himself slouched against the arm of the couch, propping an elbow upon the low rise of the back, head resting against his hand. 

"I believe both of you know why I have come," Master Mundi said.

Anakin could have sworn Obi-Wan's swallow was audible, despite no noticeable shift in his posture.

"Oh, I am old, but I am no fool." Master Mundi's smile was wistful, if not gentle. "I cannot say that my own situation is similar, due to the fact that the Council approved it long before it came to pass, but the two of you? Well, now. That is an entirely different matter, is it not?"

Neither Jedi upon the couch spoke.

"But despite that," Master Mundi continued, "I have formed my own opinion of your circumstances, independent of that of the Council or the Code, not because I agree with the foolishness of such a decision, but rather because I do not believe the decision was yours in the first place."

Anakin arched an eyebrow while Obi-Wan stroked the edges of his beard.

Master Mundi's eyes softened as his gaze lighted upon Anakin. "From the moment I saw you, young one, I was against the idea of training you, against the idea of initiating you into the Order. For many years, I did not approve of you."

"I know," Anakin muttered under his breath, receiving a pinch upon his thigh from Obi-Wan, which he swatted away.

"But," Master Mundi said. "That was before I had the visions."

"Visions?" Anakin repeated.

"Yes." Master Mundi nodded. "And as you know, a Jedi's visions are not always what they seem to be."

(TBC . . . )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I REALLY enjoyed writing this part and I'm eager to write the one after it! It actually makes me nervous in a way. Heh.


	29. Light and Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Master Mundi reveals a curious vision, leaving Anakin and Obi-Wan with more information than either could have bargained for.

Anakin sat up a bit straighter. Visions were not an unfamiliar event to him. Although generally unpleasant and often confusing, he knew that receiving a vision was considered a gift rather than something that "plagued" one's mind. The older Jedi were often used to such things, better able to interpret the pictures and emotions their mind seemed to conjure at random.

But not for Anakin. A vision was never some great revelation to him, never a turning point to something redeeming or fulfilling. Although, given Mundi's relaxed, if not somehow relieved posture, he suspected the Jedi Master might have had a different experience.

"Let me preface this by saying that I have not spoken to the Council about such things," Master Mundi said. "I have kept it to myself until this point, for I wished to see how the events would unfold on their own without the interpretations of others to skew my own perceptions." He paused, stroking the edges of his beard as he glanced from one man to the other. "Tell me, my young friends, do you see it?"

Anakin glanced to his former Master and back to himself. "See what?"

Master Mundi gestured with two fingers. "Your Force signatures are visibly woven together, not in the manner in which a string tangles itself with another bit of fabric, but rather as colors do. A combination that produces a noticeable change, a pattern of sorts if you will." He smiled, a reminiscent and wistful gesture. "I remember quite clearly when young Anakin strolled so boldly into the Council's chambers, his head held high as he attempted to project no fear. But there was much fear in you, young one. We all sensed it. But only one of us acted upon that fear."

His gaze fell to Obi-Wan, who comically pointed to his own chest as if in shock.

Master Mundi nodded. "That's right, my friend. It was your energy who reached out to young Anakin in that moment, your energy that sought his own and connected with it. It was your energy that gave Anakin focus, calmed his nerves and his mind. Why, you did not so much as notice, did you?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I confess that I do not remember doing this."

"Well, you wouldn't," Master Mundi continued. "You were but a Padawan yourself at that point, concerned with your own whims and worried that Qui-Gon's focus had shifted to another other than yourself. A very un-Jedi-like response, I might add."

Obi-Wan sighed through his nose with such controlled exasperation that Anakin chuckled. 

"Nevertheless, your energy was drawn to young Anakin. I saw it quite clearly." Master Mundi gestured to his cone-shaped cranium. "Some would say it is a gift amongst Force sensitives of my species. It's quite a nuisance, if I am being honest." He chuckled. "Can you imagine? Seeing the most private of energetic exchanges between two beings in that way. It feels somewhat invasive at times, but it is my perception." He waved a hand in a dismissive fashion. "But enough of self-talk. My point is that from the moment Anakin's need for guidance arose, it was your energy that rose to the call, Master Kenobi. Not the energy of Qui-Gon Jinn or any other Jedi present. It was your calling."

"Mine?" Obi-Wan repeated.

Master Mundi nodded. "Indeed. The Force, as you know, works in mysterious and complex ways. And it has bound you together for some time, even if both of you were unable to recognize it until recent events unfolded."

"Recent events. . . " Anakin hadn't meant to echo the sentiment and wished very much that he could bite his tongue for doing so now.

"Some time ago, I had a vision of a seemingly mundane fashion, of two flowers blooming on separate surfaces, one nurtured by warmth, the continual cycles of sunlight and moisture and another, bloomed only in darkness. Both beautiful in their own right, but as the day waned, the first would wither and fade away. As the night fell, the other would bloom. When the sun rose, the second would wilt while the other burst into fragrant fruition. At first, I believed it to be a simple representation of the balance of Light and Dark, as such things are common amongst Jedi, but it was not until recently that I began to see energetic threads attached to the flowers, vibrant colors wrapped around the petals, giving them hues not of this universe." Master Mundi glanced to Obi-Wan, "In the darkness, it is your energy that gives the flower strength to unfold and in light--" his gaze fell to Anakin. "--it is your energy that encourages the bud to bloom."

Anakin blinked. _What in the galaxy . . ._

"Of course, it's taken you both some time to realize just what amount of energetic balance is needed to keep the cycle going," Mundi continued in a conversational, almost amused fashion. "Too much from Anakin, too little from you, Master Kenobi. By the Force, it's been quite a dance between the two of you, hasn't it?"

"Uh, what . . . " Anakin said.

The tip of Obi-Wan's elbow poked his ribcage and he shot the other man a glare. 

_Stop it._

_Can you not hear yourself, Anakin?_

_I didn't **say** anything!_

_Well, you might as well have!_

"Now, now." Master Mundi chuckled. "You mustn't let this overwhelm you. But now that you have begun to nurture the energy within each other properly, do not think for one moment that the Council will not notice it. The dynamic between the two of you has shifted and make no mistake, my dear friends, it will be addressed. Perhaps not today, but soon. But know this." He sat up straighter. "What the Force has deemed necessary cannot be undone, not by the will of the Council and not by any form of Jedi training. But it will be difficult for you both, perhaps even unpleasant. Others have not seen what I have seen and they may believe my interpretation of your connection to be tainted by my own circumstances. As you both know, exceptions were made for me in the way of marriage and children due to the nature of my species, but the two of you are different. 'It is the will of the Force' may not be sufficient explanation for some."

Anakin ran a hand through his hair with a frustrated grumble of sound, wincing in expectation of Obi-Wan's pinch or jab of fingers, but a hand lighted upon his own instead, fingers curling through his and holding them tightly. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi, the most fearless and composed of all Jedi, was afraid.

(TBC . . . . )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't know, Master Mundi was allowed to procreate and have children. He took several wives (his species is polygamous) and had several children. Apparently, the females of the species GREATLY outnumber the males. The males also age faster. Therefore, in order to keep the species alive, Master Mundi was allowed to marry. However, the Council told him not to "get attached" to his family and for Mundi, this was always difficult. A struggle at best. There's a sad story about his family that I won't use in this fiction because I hate it, but you can google it, if you're curious!
> 
> Also, hasty edit is hasty. I literally wrote this WHOLE thing in about 30 minutes, as it came suddenly pouring out of me and I couldn't stop writing it lol. I wasn't sure when I'd have time to edit it, so I just went ahead and posted it. I'll fix any minor errors later!


	30. Tension and Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan's apprehension is more apparent than he would like it to be. Anakin isn't fooled.

He had missed the gardens, the hushed whisper of water over smooth rock, the gentle sway of grasses and floral splendor in the digitally manifested breeze. Although the Room of a Thousand Fountains was a spectacular natural phenomenon, it could not compare to a connection with the Living Force in a wild, elemental sense.

Obi-Wan caressed a single stalk of grass with one finger, smiling when it bent towards his touch. How like nature Anakin was. Untamed. Beautiful when allowed to flourish. Stunted in an environment such as this. 

The sound of footsteps broke the trance of meditative, if not somewhat gloomy thought and Obi-Wan glanced up to find the object of his contemplation standing before him.

"I thought I might find you here."

He ran a hand through his auburn hair with a tired smile. "Should you be out and about?"

Anakin leaned against the nearest rock with a shrug. "The healer says I'm not contagious any longer."

Not to mention staring at those same four walls, Obi-Wan thought to himself. While the past few days had been spent in a somewhat blissful entanglement of physical and emotional pleasure, reality had begun to assert itself and the price of their newfound affection would eventually come into question sooner rather than later. 

Plucking a curious, clinging vine from his shoulders, Anakin crouched down beside him. "We can't avoid this conversation forever, Master."

A hand rested upon his leg and Obi-Wan sighed. He twined his fingers through Anakin's own, adjusted his posture to a lean and allowed himself the luxury of letting his weight rest against the taller man. Just for a moment. 

"We cannot go on as we are," Obi-Wan murmured. "Should we continue our affairs in secret, the Council will surely deliver harsh judgment to us both." 

"Obi-Wan." Anakin's voice was a dark chime near his ear. "If Master Mundi knows, the others probably do as well."  
"Yes." Obi-Wan's sigh seemed to carry the entire weight of the galaxy within a single breath. "I . . . did not wish to say anything to you in your condition, but . . ." He glanced up to meet Anakin's stare. "I have been summoned. I feel quite certain I know just what it will entail."

"Summoned?" Anakin repeated. "When?"

"This afternoon," Obi-Wan said.

Blue eyes narrowed. "And you weren't going to tell me, were you."

"I was," Obi-Wan protested. "Just . . . not at this moment."

"Hmmn," Anakin grunted. He ran a hand through his hair and planted himself upon the grass in a more comfortable position, arms resting on his knees. "Why didn't they call me as well?"

"I do not know," Obi-Wan said. "Perhaps they wish to speak with us separately or perhaps, they wish only to speak to me, as I have been on the Council longer. You are still quite new to the job."

"Uh huh." Anakin teased a piece of grass with his gloved hand before nudging Obi-Wan's foot with his own. "But you have to remember something, Master."

Obi-Wan shifted his gaze to the man who sat beside him, close but not touching, their energies in soft, adjacent entanglement.

"And what is that?" Obi-Wan asked, lips suddenly dry.

"This isn't your battle," Anakin said. He laid a hand upon Obi-Wan's own, a brief and gentle squeeze of fingers. "You don't have to fight alone."

For a moment, the elder Jedi considered arguing, considered stating that yes, it was his battle and his alone. That he should have known better. That he should have somehow fought against whatever ties that now seemed to bind them to each other, but instead, he returned the clasping of fingers and cast the other man a small, albeit tired smile.  
"I know," he said.

"So . . . " Anakin's hand dropped. "When?"

Obi-Wan heaved a sigh, unable to keep the slow-growing distance in his gaze from manifesting further. "Now, I'm afraid. I admit my procrastination in the matter, but . . . I was hoping to . . ."

Hoping to what, exactly? Come up with some brilliant strategy for explaining himself? Impart great wisdom unto the Council about how aspects of the Code were flawed, if not impractical and unreachable? 

" . . . gather my thoughts into some semblance of order," he finished at last.

"Hmn," Anakin murmured once more. "You know, Master . . . sometimes it is best not to have a plan and to just say what is in your heart." He waved a hand to silence Obi-Wan before he could speak. "I realize this isn't 'the Jedi way,' but not everything has to be."

And there was the root of the problem. How could Obi-Wan explain to his friend--no, his lover---his companion--that he knew of no other way to be? No other way to handle such things? The "Jedi way" was as much a part of him as breathing, as existing.

Or so he had once believed. When had this man, so much younger and somehow artless and often awkward, become so wise?

"I must go, Anakin," Obi-Wan said. 

"I know," Anakin said. He rose, dusting off his tunic and pants. "Could I walk with you?"

No, Obi-Wan started to say. That isn't a good idea.

Instead, he slipped his hand into Anakin's gloved one, allowed the other man to help him to his feet.

"Alright," he said.

_______________________________________

 

(TBC . . . )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of May 2016, this work is currently on hiatus, but I WILL get back to it! I finish everything. Fear not! :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[ART] On the Hovertrain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5122187) by [ProfDrLachfinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfDrLachfinger/pseuds/ProfDrLachfinger)
  * [[ART] At Least](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5140412) by [ProfDrLachfinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfDrLachfinger/pseuds/ProfDrLachfinger)
  * [[ART] Come Now, Anakin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5140442) by [ProfDrLachfinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfDrLachfinger/pseuds/ProfDrLachfinger)




End file.
